


The Terrible Troupe

by Alice_Writes_Stuff



Series: The Terrible Troupe [1]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Awfulness, Child Abuse, Drinking Games, Headcanon: The Henchperson Is Autistic, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Other, POV Alternating, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-07 13:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Writes_Stuff/pseuds/Alice_Writes_Stuff
Summary: Just as VFD members Jacquelyn, Larry and Jacques made several increasingly desperate yet ultimately ineffective attempts to protect and help the Baudelaire orphans, help also started to come from the other side of the schism- specifically from firestarters Fernald, Ainsley, Mildred, Maud and Phil. But, with the volunteers always a few steps behind, and the troupe too afraid of their boss to do much, will either group really be able to make a difference to the lives of the Baudelaires?





	1. The Dreadful Dinner

**A.N- Hey guys! I know it's been a wee while since I've posted anything, but I am back (hopefully) with something a little different. This is my first time writing fic for this series, and I hope you guys enjoy it! As usual, I own nothing! Don't forget to read and review!**

Chapter One - The Dreadful Dinner

Fernald sighed and sank down into one of the ancient chairs down in Count Olaf's basement. It had been about an hour since the pasta incident- or the Pasta Disaster, as Phil had decided to call it- and their most recent rehearsal was finally over. The Count had spent most of it ranting about how much he hated the Baudelaire orphans, and how he was going to destroy them as soon as he could figure out a way to get their fortune. He'd manage it, too. If anyone could pull off a scheme like that, it would be the Count.

The five of them had congregated down here, in what was typically viewed as a Count-free-zone. It was bound to be an orphan-free-zone too- after all, what could they want with a room full of broken furniture and machines, ancient books and bits of old firewood? The basement was a mess, save for the small area they'd cleared, the area where they were now all gathered. Phil was opening a crate of wine, the twins were setting out glasses, and Ainsley, who'd went upstairs for a few minutes, was now sitting in the other armchair with a big silver pan, practically shovelling leftover pasta into their mouth.

"Hey, save some for the rest of us!" Fernald said. He was half joking, but still, Ainsley held out the pan, and he took it.

"It's good stuff," they observed as Fernald helped himself to a few spoonfuls. There wasn't much left, but there was still enough to have a little bit each, if they wanted it.

"Yeah, they're not bad cooks, are they? Maybe having them around won't be such a bad thing after all. Shame they won't be around much longer, though." None of them said anything. They all knew he was right- the orphans were only useful for as long as it would take to get the fortune. Once that had happened, they'd be expendable. And Fernald knew he wasn't the only one who didn't like to think too much about what that meant. Especially after tonight.

"Anyone want some wine?" Phil asked, taking all of their minds off the orphans for now. They all nodded, and he poured out five glasses. They took one each and sat down, and at first none of them spoke. But Ainsley was clearly in one of their moods, as they did not stay quiet for long.

"Did anyone else feel uncomfortable with the whole "slapping a preteen and holding up a baby in one hand" thing?" they asked. "I mean, when I first realised the boss was taking in those orphans, I was expecting more whiny, privileged brats, and less free food and decent manners." Fernald sighed.

"Look, buddy, none of us exactly enjoyed how that dinner went, but you know what the boss is like. If he hears us making a big deal about what happened, he won't be happy. The best thing to do is just drink our wine and try to forget about it. There's nothing we can do for those kids, not without the boss finding out." Ainsley sighed, and took a long drink of their wine. Fernald waited for them to reply, but they didn't. No-one else contributed to the conversation either, as the twins were going back and forth about which glass belonged to whom, and Phil was counting the bottles they had left in the crate.

"Eleven," he concluded, finally." He then pulled five bottles out, and set them on the small table. "Once everyone's finished their drinks, I've got an idea." Four words that never ended well. He didn't need to look at Ainsley to know they were thinking the same thing, but he did so anyway. He was right- they were both on the same page.

"What are you thinking, Phil?" he asked.

"We take a bottle each, and see who can drink it the fastest." It wasn't the first time the five of them had tried something like this. They'd played various drinking games over the last year or so that they'd all been working together- including a game of Never Have I Ever, passing a bottle of wine around like a bunch of teenagers. Mildred had won, though Maud had been close behind.

Phil passed the bottles round, and Fernald opened his with a hook. They'd all had a bit to drink already, before they'd come down here. And none of them could hold their alcohol quite like the Count- though Phil probably came the closest, followed by the twins. But that didn't stop all of them from picking up their bottles and trying to drink their contents as fast as possible.

In the end, Ainsley was the first one to set their empty bottle down- and then immediately drop it on the floor, and have to set it back on the table again.

"You look like a pirate," they said, pointing at Fernald. He finished off his bottle, and turned to them.

"Aye?" He asked in his best pirate voice. "And would that be on account of me missing hands or me bottle of grog?"

"Both," they replied, without hesitation. Fernald laughed, he couldn't help it.

"Yeah?" he replied, and they nodded, before getting up and perching on the arm of Fernald's chair, patting one of his hooks.

"Shiny," they commented , which made him smile. This wasn't the first time that something like this had happened- Ainsley making weird, one-or-two-word compliments when they were drunk enough.

"Yeah, buddy, they are a bit. Though maybe I should clean them up a little- they're getting kinda grimy." Ainsley nodded, gave his hook one more pat and then wandered over to go and sit back in their chair. By now, the twins and Phil had finished their bottles of wine, and set them down on the floor.

"What do you think the orphans would do if we threatened to turn them into frogs?" Mildred asked. Fernald rolled his eyes.

"They'd never believe you- they may be kids, but they're not that stupid." Which, of course, could be a problem, but they could always cross that bridge when they got to it.

"That's a shame," Maud replied.

"It would've been good to instil a little fear," Mildred continued.

"It sets the right precedent," Maud concluded. Fernald shot a glance at Ainsley, knowing they didn't like the twins' habit of finishing each other's sentences either. But Ainsley had grabbed another wine bottle, and was busy filling their glass, so they didn't notice.

"I don't think you need to convince them you're witches or something for that. They already know we can't be trusted." The fact that none of them had done anything when the dinner had gotten out of hand was proof. "It's a shame we can't change that," he thought out loud.

"Why does it matter?" Phil asked. Why indeed?

"They remind me of someone I used to know," Fernald admitted, cursing the wine for making it so easy.

"What, all three of them?"

"Yes, all three of them. Look, it's a long story, and I don't wanna tell it right now." Phil nodded, which Fernald had to admit he appreciated. He didn't wanna have to go into this right now, this thing that made dealing with the Baudelaires so difficult. It might not have been so bad if only one orphan had reminded him of Fiona- but one way or another, they all did. The eldest was about the same age as her, the middle one had glasses and looked like he knew a lot, and the baby seemed every bit as sharp and quick to learn as she'd been at that age. All in all, it was not ideal.

"Do you think we'll have to do anything?" Ainsley asked. "I mean, once the boss has come up with a plan?"

"Yeah, probably," Fernald replied. "No way it'll just be a one-man job. Something that big, it'll take all of us." Of course, he had no idea, yet, just how big the scheme would get, or just how much would be asked of him, or of the others.

As the night wore on, and the troupe continued to drink wine and eat the remains of the pasta, not one of them- not Fernald, nor Ainsley, nor Maud, nor Mildred, nor Phil- had the faintest idea that this would be their last night of true normalcy for quite some time.

* * *

A loud clattering noise woke Ainsley the next morning. They had fallen asleep on the threadbare rug down in Count Olaf's basement, something which must've made sense at the time, but they now regretted completely. Turning their attention to the loud noise, they saw that the Count had made a rare appearance down here, and had also dropped the empty pasta pan on the floor, in order to wake his troupe up. Well, apart from Phil, who was already awake.

"I thought I might find the rest of you freeloaders down here," he said as he surveyed the scene. Ainsley hoped he wasn't after anything too pressing- they were far too hungover to deal with much right now. "Wake up- I have to get to the bank, and I need one of you four-"

"Five," Ainsley muttered.

"Five," the Count amended. "I need one of you five henchpeople to come with me." He paused for a moment, then announced, "Hooky, you can come." Nobody argued with that.

"Why do we need to go to the bank, though? Weren't we just there the other day?" Fernald asked.

"Those brats have disappeared, and I have a feeling they've gone running off to that banker about what happened last night."

"I thought you said that banker was about as threatening as a lump of wet toilet paper, boss."

"Well yes, but he's in charge of the Baudelaire fortune. Meaning that he has the power to give those orphans a new guardian, which will make our job harder."

"It certainly would, boss." Ainsley sat up- well, tried to, at any rate- and watched as Fernald got to his feet and followed the Count out of the basement and up the stairs. Before he left, he turned to the others. "I'll see you guys later, alright?" And with that, he was gone.

As tempting as it was to go right back to sleep, they had other things to get to, namely breakfast, at a little cafe round the corner, with the rest of the troupe. It was how they all preferred to deal with their collective hangovers, and it had never failed them yet. They each put on a pair of sunglasses, and got ready to leave. The twins each wore an old-fashioned pointy pair, not too different from their regular glasses, Phil wore a plain black pair that made him look even more like a night club bouncer than he usually did, and Ainsley wore the first pair that came to hand. Today, that was a large, emerald green pair with a pattern of purple polka dots. Deciding that they were as good a pair as any, Ainsley put them in, and followed the others out of the basement.

Once they reached the cafe- it served breakfast all day, which was just as well, because it was closer to the early afternoon than the actual morning- they all placed their usual orders, porridge for Mildred, French toast for Maud, pancakes for Ainsley and an omelette for Phil. They slid into their usual booth, the twins on one side, Ainsley and Phil on the other. Usually, Fernald would be sitting next to Ainsley, tucking into a plateful of scrambled eggs and toast. But he wasn't here right now, even if Ainsley wished he was.

Sighing, they squirted maple syrup on their pancakes. This was partly because it tasted better this way, but it was also partly because it gave them a reason not to put their head on the table, as they might have done otherwise. The thought of getting a face full of syrup was always a good motivator- especially as the twins were telling another one of their "back in the day" stories, about a girl they used to be friends with, named Ethel, and the adventures they'd had with her when they were young women.

"Oh, we had a lot of fun back then- twins were very fashionable, so we were rather popular. Though it did become complicated when it came to some of the young men we knew- and Ethel was surprisingly bad for encouraging us." Ainsley closed their eyes- a face full of syrup was starting to look very tempting right now. They didn't have anything against the twins- they were surprisingly chilled about a lot of things, which was nice. But Ainsley was far too hungover to listen to them list their ex-boyfriends, so after a minute or two they intervened.

"We get it, you both got around a lot back in the day." Mildred pointed her finger at them.

"Excuse me, young..." she trailed off, clearly not sure what would be an appropriate way to finish that sentence.

"Whippersnapper," Maud offered.

"Yes, whippersnapper!" Ainsley wasn't sure whether to be amused at being called that- seriously, they couldn't remember the last time they'd heard that word in casual conversation- or pleased that the twins had remembered to call them something neutral. "That is no way-" Before she could continue, the door opened, and Fernald came into the cafe.

"Hey guys," he said, after he'd placed his order and slid into the booth next to Ainsley. It perhaps wasn't the best system, since neither Phil nor Ainsley were especially small, and there wasn't really enough room on the booth seats for two rather tall people and one kinda tall person. They made do, though, and Ainsley didn't mind- even if, normally, they'd hate being squashed up like that.

At least, they'd never minded at first. But now, they were running a hand over their hair, hoping it wasn't as messy as they feared it was, and hoping they didn't look as bad as they felt. The worst part- or perhaps the best part, they weren't quite sure- was that Fernald didn't seem to have noticed. The twins had, though, judging by the knowing looks on their faces.

"So, what have I missed?" he asked, oblivious.

"Not much," Ainsley replied. "Mildred called me a whippersnapper, but that's about it." Fernald raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Well, what else were we meant to say? They were being impertinent!"

"And since neither young man nor young lady were appropriate, we had to get creative!" Maud added. Ainsley looked at Fernald, knowing he was the only one on this side of the booth who found the twins' sentence-finishing habit as weird as they did. Phil was more freaked out when they talked in sync.

"What happened at the bank?" they asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, you know, I pretended to be the new secretary, and the banker fell for it completely. The kids showed up, made their complaints, and he didn't believe any of it. In fact, he even suggested I take them home."

"Do you think the boss will get mad at them for this?" Ainsley asked. Fernald just shrugged.

"How bad can it be? He said he was gonna pick up cupcakes for them on the way home. I'm sure he won't be too hard on them." Ainsley rolled their eyes. They liked Fernald, they really did, more than anyone else in the troupe, in fact. But his determination to always see the best in the Count, no matter what, was a little annoying at times. "Anyway, we should probably finish up here and head back. I think the boss wants to talk to all of us about a scheme." With that, they all finished their food, then walked round the corner to Count Olaf's house.

The Count was finishing the last of the cupcakes when they got in, and didn't notice them at first. Eventually, he turned around.

"There you are." He looked at Fernald. "I thought I told you to bring them straight here."

"Sorry, boss- we were having breakfast."

"Did you bring me anything?" They all shook their heads. "Well, it's just as well I had these delicious cupcakes, isn't it?" Now they all nodded. "Anyway, do you all remember the play we've been working on for the last several weeks, The Brilliant Birthday? Well, we're scrapping it, completely."

"But I finally perfected the score!" Fernald protested.

"And we finally memorised our lines!" the twins added.

"This isn't because of last night's rehearsal, is it?" Ainsley asked. "Those animal noises were Phil's idea, not mine."

"This has nothing to do with that," the Count replied. "I've simply come up with something better, that's all." He paused dramatically. "Ladies, gentlemen, and the other one, I would like to present... The Marvellous Marriage!" They all clapped, though Ainsley frowned. Was it really necessary to call them _the other one?_ Surely the Count could think of something a bit less offensive. "The play will run this Friday night for one night only. And by the end of it, I shall have full legal control of the entire Baudelaire fortune!"

"How? It's only a play," Phil pointed out.

"It's not _only a play,_ you dolt. It's a play where I will play a very handsome man, who will marry the eldest Baudelaire girl. But here's the brilliant part- it will not simply be a work of fiction, it will be completely real! We'll have a judge, a proper document, everything we could need!"

"Isn't she a bit young?" Ainsley asked. "As in, below the age of consent?"

"That _might_ be a problem, I suppose," the Count conceded. "But, as I am her legal guardian, I can give her permission to get married- and believe me, I most certainly will." He paused. "And before any of you ask, I already have an answer to the question of how I'll make her do it. One thing I learned last night was that both she and the boy have one thing in common- an Achilles heel."

"What does that mean?" Phil asked, quietly.

"It's a figure of speech referring to someone's biggest emotional weakness," Ainsley replied, equally quietly.

"If you're quite finished, I'll continue. Their Achilles heel, it would appear, is rather small- in fact, you could even say that I can lift it up in one hand."

"You don't mean the baby, do you?" Fernald asked. The Count sighed.

"Of course I mean the baby! Are there any more idiotic questions?" They all glanced at each other, and shook their heads.

"What do you want us to do, boss?" Fernald asked after a minute.

"I don't know, just start preparing for the wedding. I need to have a word with a judge." And with that, he swept out of the room.

A few minutes later, the five of them had gotten changed, and were gathered around the dinner table, working on their various wedding projects. The twins were designing a dress, Phil was trying to write a song, Fernald was flipping through a pile of recipe books, and Ainsley was staring into space and thinking about the concept of marriage. So far, they'd concluded that it was outdated, tired and embarrassingly heteronormative. After a minute, the twins closed their sketchbook and left the room. Then Fernald picked up one of his cookbooks, and went off to the kitchen. Ainsley didn't really notice, though, not till Phil poked their arm, and they realised the two of them were the only ones left in the room.

"Hey, do you know any words that rhyme with Olaf?"

"Um, show-off? I mean, it's not really a proper rhyme, it's a half-rhyme at best, but-"

"Great, thanks." He scribbled something down in his notebook, and got up from the table. Ainsley decided to get up too, and wandered over to the kitchen, poking their head round the door to check if Fernald was still in there. He was, and he was in the middle of stirring some kind of mixture- possibly cake. He turned around, and pointed his spoon at Ainsley.

"Hey, could you help me out? If I finish making the cake, could you make up the icing samples?" Ainsley nodded.

"Why didn't you ask earlier?" He shrugged.

"You seemed really deep in thought. Like you'd retreated into your head. When you get like that, I always figure it's best to let you come out on your own, unless there's an actual emergency or something." Ainsley smiled, and got to work on the first of the icing samples. "What were you thinking about, anyway?"

"I was thinking about marriage- and how it's kind of outdated, and weighed down with a lot of gendered standards and expectations and that sort of thing." They paused. "I don't see why, in this day and age, you can't just be in a committed, long-term relationship with someone, without needing to spend all that time, money and effort on a wedding, when you might change your mind later."

"You're right- especially that last part. Changing your mind can get pretty messy, particularly when there's kids involved." There was something in the way he said it- like he was speaking from experience. Ainsley might not have noticed it, as normally, those kinds of tonal subtleties were lost on them. But this wasn't the first time Fernald had talked like this- like he was almost trying to indirectly talk about his past.

Eventually, the cake was ready, the orphans had been sent up to their room, and the troupe had wrapped up their projects. The Count had been almost dismissive of their efforts so far- particularly Phil's song. He'd seemed to like the cake, though.

With nothing else to do,the troupe wandered up to their small, nondescript guest rooms. None of them actually lived in Count Olaf's house, but they'd found four habitable rooms, and claimed them as theirs, for the occasions when it might be necessary to do so.

It may not be immediately obvious to whom each room belonged. But each person had added their own little details, to make their rooms feel more like home- as much as a place like Count Olaf's crumbling mansion could ever feel, anyway. It was more than the Baudelaires could do, a fact which made all of them sleep just a bit less easily than usual that night.

The next morning, the troupe went downstairs, to find Count Olaf and the Baudelaire boy discussing the Count's plan. It seemed that the boy had got hold of a book about nuptial law, and had figured out the plan. Almost on cue, the troupe gasped and the Count feigned shock. The twins followed his lead, speculating about the horrible consequences which would surely be awaiting all of them.

"I guess that proves reading really is fundamental," Ainsley said, though it was clear from looking around that they were the only one who thought so. Fortunately, though- or more unfortunately, all things considered- nobody seemed to have noticed. At least, Olaf didn't- his mind was on other things. Specifically, the older orphans, who are about to have their Achilles heels painfully struck. After following them upstairs, he brought them outside and let them see exactly where their sister had gotten off to. As he spun them round his finger and into his play, Ainsley studied the ground, and tried to pretend none of this was happening...

* * *

The one thing nobody thought to tell you about being on guard duty was how painfully boring it could get, especially when you didn't have anyone there to talk to. It wouldn't be so bad if Ainsley were here- or Phil, or the twins, of course.

But if Ainsley were here, then they could've finished talking about marriage, and maybe he could've worked up the courage to tell them about Fiona, and his stepfather. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but it felt like it was. Maybe if he could talk to one member of the troupe about his family, telling the rest of them would seem easier.

Suddenly, a flash of something silver caught his eye. Then, there was another flash. Fernald went over to the window and peered down. A small, yet unmistakable figure in a pink dress was on the ground below, using some kind of device to try and get up the tower. Maybe this night was about to get interesting after all.

* * *

Ainsley, meanwhile, could not claim to be having a dull night, by any means. With all the preparations that had to be done for the play, they'd been on their feet more or less non-stop for at least the last couple hours. It would be easier if they had all hands on deck, of course. Instead, Ainsley and Phil had ended up doing most of the work so far. Well, that wasn't strictly true- the twins were in charge of the costumes, and they had their lines to learn too. But the fact remained that everything else had been left to the remaining members of the troupe- and because Fernald was busy guarding the baby, and the Count preferred to tell them what to do rather than do anything himself, Ainsley and Phil were left to do the heavy lifting, both figuratively and literally.

"I don't know why you're grumbling," Phil said, as the two of them checked over the ropes and the lighting board, making sure everything would be in order for the play. "We're always the ones who do the heavy lifting." He had a point- this wasn't the first time the two of them had found themselves in this position.

"Maybe it's the fact that we're having to put this together so last minute. I mean, we usually have a few days to do all this stuff, but now we only have a few hours." At least, that was part of it. Ainsley also had doubts about the play itself, but there was no way they were going to voice them now, where the Count could walk in any minute.

"That's fair, I suppose. And plus, it would be easier if we had Fernald here- I know he's got his... shortcomings, but he could still be helpful."

"You know you can just say he has hooks instead of hands, right? You don't need to use a euphemism or anything."

"And you don't need to be so sensitive about everything, either," Phil countered. Before Ainsley could say anything in response, though, the Count walked over to them.

"Showtime in five minutes." He ordered Phil to start directing people to their seats, then he handed Ainsley a clipboard and started running them through the cues for the play.

_Started_ being the operative part- what with how quickly the play had been thrown together, this was the first Ainsley was hearing about most of the cues they were supposed to follow. As they settled back into position next to the lighting board, they hoped that the play would go smoothly, and they wouldn't have to do much more than flip a few switches.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the tower room, Fernald was back to pacing the floor, trying to think of something to do with the next few hours. While there had been a brief bit of activity thanks to the Baudelaire girl's botched rescue attempt, both she and her brother were on their way to the theatre, and now, once again, it was just Fernald and the baby.

He sighed, and sat down in front of the cage. On the one hand, he could understand why the orphans had done what they'd done. If anyone had done that to Fiona when she'd been a baby, he would've done anything to help her. Especially because, in hindsight, Fiona had not been like most babies. She'd been fussy, and awkward... and this was not the time or place to be thinking about her right now. Spying a pack of playing cards on the floor, an idea came to mind- one that would not only kill a bit of time but serve as a distraction.

"Don't suppose you know how to play poker?"

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the theatre, the play was indeed going smoothly- though perhaps that wasn't such a good thing, under the circumstances. The play was badly written, even by normal Al Funcoot standards. That was the thing about the Count's plays- it wasn't a secret, by now, that the Count did all the writing, and simply used Al Funcoot as a pseudonym- while they may be fine in many technical respects, the scripts were usually pretty terrible.

Finally, it was time for the wedding scene. Ainsley focused on their lights, and tried not to think about what was actually happening on the stage to their left. They'd known that this plan was always going to involve troubling and disturbing deeds. But there was something about this one that was particularly unsettling- perhaps it was how open the Count was able to be with it, the fact that no part of it was technically illegal, so he didn't have to hide it.

Whatever the reason was, Ainsley tried not to examine it too closely. Instead, they tried to think of some of the things they could do with their share of the fortune. This was, of course, assuming that they got one, which Ainsley hoped they would. And if they did, the possibilities would be... well, maybe not endless, but probably not far off.

Their thoughts and ideas were cut off by some unexpected movement on the stage. It looked like the wedding was not going so smoothly after all. The boy had dragged a blackboard over, and was in the process of conducting some kind of lengthy legal argument. Ainsley studied the scene, trying to piece together what they'd managed to miss while they'd been lost in thought. Fernald was there, along with the baby. The judge was listening to the boy, who was explaining a legal loophole that would render the Count's marriage invalid, if it were proven correct.

As the judge confirmed that he was, indeed, right, Ainsley could only stare out at the stage, wondering what exactly they were meant to do now. Fortunately, though, a scribbled note on the back of their cue sheet had the answer.

_If, in the unlikely event this goes wrong, kill the lights, and get to the trapdoor._ Passing the note to Phil, Ainsley went over to Fernald to let him know. Before either of them could signal to the twins, though, Phil killed the lights. They didn't have long to get to the trapdoor in the floor of the theatre, and time was of the essence.

Luckily, no sooner had they all descended into the tunnels and closed the door, but the lights came on above them. Ainsley did a quick mental tally- they'd all escaped, all six of them, and not a moment too soon.

As they all made their way through the tunnels, none of them knew where exactly they were going, or what the Count's next plan was. Well, nobody except the Count- and he wouldn't be leading them out of the dark any time soon.


	2. The Vile Venom

Chapter Two- The Vile Venom

It had been a couple of days since Olaf's troupe had fled the theatre. So far, there had been no word from the Count regarding what the next step was, or the exact location of the "vigorously fixed destination."

By the afternoon of the second day, Ainsley had made a few tentative plans. These included an audition tomorrow morning, and going round to the twins' apartment for dinner. Which was how the three of them ended up gathered round the kitchen table, drinking cups of tea and looking through the script Ainsley had been given.

"So, what do you think?" they asked.

"Well, it's a bit unusual," Maud began.

"And possibly controversial," Mildred added.

"It's exactly what we expected from you," the two of them concluded. Ainsley wasn't quite sure how they were meant to react to that.

"Are you going to invite Fernald to your audition?" Mildred asked- or it might have been Maud, it was hard to tell.

"Why would I ask Fernald specifically?" Ainsley asked, frowning slightly.

"Well, why wouldn't you?" Mildred countered.

"You do seem very fond of him- and you never know, it might give you the confidence to actually do something about that."

"I don't know what... I'm not... It's not like that!" Ainsley managed.

"It's maybe not like that now."

"But you'd like it to be, wouldn't you?" Ainsley didn't have an answer to that, which, they supposed, was an answer in and of itself. They were about to say something regardless, when the phone rang.

"One moment." Mildred stood up, and managed to beat her sister to the phone. A couple of minutes of rushed, one-sided conversation followed, before Mildred finally set the phone down.

"Well?" Maud asked.

"Get your coat, we're off to the movies."

* * *

The next morning, Ainsley invited Phil over. They had thought about asking Fernald- they'd wanted to, definitely. But after everything the twins had said last night, it felt too weird. They'd been right, though- that was the worst of it. That, and the fact that, regardless of what Ainsley did or didn't feel, Fernald probably didn't feel the same way. In fact, they were positive that he didn't.

It was a little strange, having Phil here- especially considering how early it was. At the same time, though, it felt weirdly normal. The way things stood, Phil was currently probably the easiest member of the troupe to be around. He didn't have any unsettling habits, like the twins did, nor was there any awkward, one-sided attraction like there was with Fernald. Plus, Phil was the only person in the troupe that Ainsley didn't have to lean down to talk to, which was nice.

"When's your audition again?" he asked, looking through the script.

"It's about an hour and a half away." They were sitting at their kitchen table, idly painting their nails purple- and orange, and green, and blue, a different, randomly selected colour for each nail.

"How are you feeling about it?" Ainsley shrugged. The truth was, they were starting to get a bit nervous, but they were trying not to think about it any more than necessary. They popped the cap back onto the lid of their most recent bottle of nail polish- a bright, buttery yellow- and were about to respond when the phone rang.

"Let me get that." They picked up the phone, careful not to smudge their nails. "Yes?"

"Get over here now," barked the all-too-familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"I can't- I have an audition this morning, for Equus."

"I don't care if you have an audition for Equus, just get over here now!" He still wasn't saying where exactly _here_ was.

"Where exactly is _here_? And why do I have to come?"

"Don't ask questions!" The Count sighed. "Lousy Lane, the residence of Dr Montgomery Montgomery. Yes, that's his real name. I was hoping to deal with him a bit more discretely, but there were problems. Anyway, we have to move quickly. Get over here right now- and," he added, almost as an afterthought, "if anyone asks, your name is Nurse Lucafont." There was a click on the other end of the line, as the call was disconnected.

Ainsley sighed, and put the phone down. They knew they should be more upset this, but they just felt more resigned than anything else. Of course the Count would pick _now_ to need them. Of _course_ they wouldn't actually be allowed to do something different, to have their own life outside of the troupe. And of _course _they would allow it to happen, they wouldn't put up a fight or refuse to take part. The Count would get his way- he always did.

"Who was that?" Phil asked, after a moment.

"That was the boss. He wants all of us to go to Lousy Lane right now." He hadn't exactly said that, but it had been implied.

"What about your audition?"

"Forget about the audition." They sighed. "Could you call the others? I need to find a disguise."

It didn't take Ainsley long to find a nurse's uniform among their numerous disguises. These weren't neatly categorised, like the Count's collection of Very Fine Disguises; rather, they were more like a jumbled, chaotic dressing-up box. Nevertheless, Ainsley was able to find a blue dress and a white apron, which despite briefly reminding them of Alice In Wonderland, looked official enough.

Still, they'd obviously need to do a bit more than put the outfit on if they were going to convince people that they were a nurse, but that shouldn't be too difficult. They just needed to get into character, to draw the line between Ainsley Orlando and Nurse Lucafont. Simple.

Finally, they were ready to go. As well as the uniform, they'd also put on an old pair of glasses, and a surgical mask, which would hang around their neck until they needed to pull it up over their mouth. They'd even styled their hair differently, curling the ends and using quite a lot of hairspray.

There was nothing left to do apart from leave the building and join the others, who were waiting in a van outside. They were all sitting in the back- clearly none of them had picked a driver yet.

"What do you think?" Ainsley asked, gesturing to their disguise.

"It's missing something," the twins decided, and each reached into her cardigan pocket and produced a badge. One said, "Nurse," the other said, "Totally a nurse."

"Subtle," Ainsley said, pinning each one onto their apron.

"Whippersnapper," Mildred replied, though she said it with a smile.

"What do you guys think?" they asked Fernald and Phil.

"You look nice," Phil said, then he nudged Fernald, who was frowning.

"I don't know," he said . "I don't think it suits you- it's a bit much." Ainsley narrowed their eyes and folded their arms. They knew that what Fernald thought of their disguise shouldn't matter. It wasn't like the outfit was for his benefit, after all. But still, they couldn't help being bothered by it, just a little.

"It's not supposed to suit me," they pointed out, for once glad for their deadpan voice and resting neutral expression. "It's supposed to cover up my identity, make me look like someone else." Fernald frowned again, and shrugged.

"I suppose." He sighed. "Look, let's get going- Phil, do you want to drive?" Phil nodded, and went round to the driver's seat. Ainsley climbed into the back of the van- managing to ignore the label on the side declaring it as a "corner" van- shut the door, and they were away.

* * *

The drive out to Dr. Montgomery's house was long, and it only took about ten minutes before the troupe started looking for ways to fill the time.

"You could play card games," Phil suggested, while he flicked through radio stations in the search for music. "Maybe not poker- I heard that can be a bit challenging for some people." Fernald snapped a hook in his general direction. "Maybe you should play something simple."

"Like snap," Mildred suggested.

"Or happy families," added Maud.

"I think I saw a pack of Top Trumps lying around," Ainsley added, helpfully.

"You know what, all four of you can go to Hell."

"We can keep you company, then," Ainsley quipped, and Fernald rolled his eyes. Finally, Phil found some music, and Maud suggested a game of I Spy, which the others agreed to.

By the time they turned onto Lousy Lane, they'd all ran out of things to spy. There was, however, plenty to smell. The whole area reeked, and somehow knowing that the smell came from the nearby horseradish factory did not make it any easier to bear. Ainsley pinched their nose shut with one hand, and tried to ignore it.

"Ainsley, buddy, could you..." Fernald trailed off. Ainsley guessed what he was asking, though, and pinched his nose with their free hand. "Thanks." The two of them were sitting next to each other in the van, which was making Ainsley self-conscious about a dozen little things, from their hair to their shoes and everything in between. Little things that probably didn't even register with Fernald, and things that, now both of their hands were occupied, they couldn't do anything about anyway.

"Don't mention it," they replied.

Finally, the van pulled up outside Dr. Montgomery's house. Ainsley snapped on a pair of pink rubber gloves, and got out of the van. They pulled their mask up over their face, and walked to the house, taking a moment before pressing the doorbell.

In theory, Ainsley knew exactly what they were meant to do, what was being asked of them. And on paper, it all sounded very simple. Put on disguise, drive to Dr. Montgomery's house, ring the doorbell, enter the house, orchestrate a scenario where Olaf would be alone with the orphans, look the other way while he snuck off with them, job done.

The reality, however, was very different. The reality involved questions about their disguise, and stubborn orphans, and a lot of snakes, lizards and other equally unpleasant creatures. It involved being close to a dead body, and putting on a false voice that was rather hard to maintain. Eventually, they couldn't keep it up, returning to their usual flat tone and yanking their mask off.

"That's one of Count Olaf's accomplices, can't you see?" the girl protested, appealing to the oblivious banker. It was no use- the banker hadn't seen Ainsley during the previous scheme, he wouldn't recognise them even without the disguise. He might recognise Fernald, though, or the twins.

When the others burst into the house, though, it was clear that even that wouldn't be a problem. It seemed the only thing the banker had remembered about Fernald was his hooks. With those gone, covered up by a pair of clearly fake hands, he was apparently unrecognisable. The same applied to the twins, which was somehow even stranger. After all, they had, as the orphans pointed out, been clearly visible in the play. But the banker didn't recognise them either.

* * *

With the rest of the troupe now in the house, things moved quickly. Before Ainsley really knew which way was up, they were helping Phil carry Dr Montgomery's body out of the house. They knew, of course they knew, that they ought to feel more about the fact that they were carrying a dead body. But at this point, Ainsley was working on autopilot, not really taking in much of anything.

Things didn't get much better when they re-entered the house and, along with the rest of the troupe, had to keep the banker busy. Though that should be simple enough- especially with Fernald carrying on like a TV detective, hatching a plot to lure the Incredibly Deadly Viper back to its cage. Ainsley wished he wouldn't- the last thing they wanted was for there to be any more reptiles in this room.

At one point, Fernald caught their eye. He raised his eyebrows, like he was asking a question: _You alright?_ Ainsley just shrugged, as if to say, _What do you think?_

"Um, Nurse," he said. "Would you mind going to get us all a coffee?"

"That's an excellent idea!" agreed the banker. Ainsley nodded, and went into the kitchen. They pulled out a few mugs, each one decorated with a picture of a different scaly creature, and switched on the coffee machine. They leaned against the counter, trying to collect their thoughts, trying to calm their nerves.

This whole day had gotten to be far, far too much to deal with, and they were beginning to reach their limit. Between the complete shake up of their plans, the various discomforts that came with their disguise, and the reality of what they were doing here, it was all way too much.

Still, they managed to remain calm long enough to finish making the coffee- strangely, the simple mechanics of the process were enough to relax them for a while- and brought the cups through, carrying them carefully on a tray.

"Thank you, Nurse," said the banker, taking a mug. "I must say, there is nothing quite like a good cup of coffee - especially as I didn't get my usual morning cup."

"I know how you feel," Ainsley replied. "My boss made me come out here first thing- I had to miss an important audition." The banker frowned.

"Audition?"

"I meant autopsy," they amended. They kept on for another minute or two, covering up for their mistake. Luckily, the banker didn't seem to know enough about the _med-biz_ to realise that most of what Ainsley was saying was nonsense. Things were going relatively well- until the baby screamed.

Over the next ten or so minutes, Ainsley learned three things about the people around them:

1\. The banker was terrible in a crisis.

2\. The orphans actually were smarter than anyone gave them credit for, that hadn't just been a fluke.

3\. Ainsley wasn't the only one who could forget their character when under pressure.

The Count was making this last point particularly clear, as he was listing other deadly snakes that could've taken out Dr. Montgomery- despite having claimed, in front of no fewer than five witnesses, that he didn't know anything about snakes. Ainsley tried to catch his attention, to stop him from digging himself into too big a hole.

It was too late, though- the orphans had noticed his mistake. And if they noticed, it wouldn't be long before the banker noticed, and then what would happen next? He'd have them all arrested, he'd...

Wait. He still believed in the rest of their disguises- apart from Ainsley, he'd not actually questioned any of them about whether they were what they claimed to be. And even if the actual police were on their way, by the time they arrived, the six of them would be long gone.

Of course, as far as the banker was concerned, the police already were here. He probably even thought Ainsley was some kind of undercover officer- they'd seen something like that on TV once, a bunch of detectives undercover somewhere, one of them- the lone female officer, naturally- disguised as a nurse. It was possible that the banker thought this was what was happening right now.

* * *

Finally, they fled from the house, and the troupe climbed back into the corner van. Ainsley sat up front, next to Fernald. They pulled off their gloves, propped their glasses up in their hair, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Are you alright?" Fernald asked. Ainsley shrugged again, and he let the matter drop. Then, once they'd been driving down the road a little longer, he spoke again. "_Med-biz?_" he asked, half incredulous, shaking his head.

"I panicked!" And in that moment, they could forget that anything troubling or stressful had happened today, or was going to happen. If they'd been a bit braver, they might have leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. But they weren't braver.

Then the moment was past, the van was back on Lousy Lane, and there was nothing ahead of them but the smell of horseradish and the long drive back to the city. Ainsley turned on the radio, finding the same music station from before. Not that it improved their mood, though. They kept thinking about Dr. Montgomery, and his reptiles, and the knowledge that this henchperson business was becoming far more intense than they'd ever expected it to be.

"Do you think there's anything we could've done?" they asked, eventually. "To stop the boss from killing him, I mean. I know we had to get him out the way, of course. But was that the only way to do it?"

"Yes, it was," Fernald replied, and he sounded so blunt, so matter of fact, that Ainsley felt stupid for bringing it up. "At least, it was the only way that the boss would've accepted. That's the only way you can really guarantee someone won't be a threat. And besides- we can't forget who he was- he was _V.F.D_. He was our enemy. We can't let ourselves forget that fact, however we may feel about what's happened today." Ainsley thought about saying something more- at least a dozen things flitted through their mind. But none of them seemed right, and they were too tired for a debate, so in the end, they let out another sigh.

"You're right," they said, even though they weren't quite sure if he was. They remained quiet throughout the rest of the journey, wondering if this was what it was always going to be like- a string of dead bodies and conflicted emotions, until Count Olaf finally got what he wanted, and all of this would be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The TV programme Ainsley references towards the end of the chapter is Life On Mars, specifically series one episode six.


	3. The Loathsome Lake

This time, the troupe had only been back in the city for less than a day when the Count summoned them again. He wanted them to accompany him to a little town on the shore of Lake Lachrymose - though he didn't want to take his chances on the Fickle Ferry, just in case they ran into trouble.

Which was how the six of them ended up in two little sailboats, riding across the lake. Or, more accurately, the Count was riding in a little sailboat, and the troupe were pulling him along in a separate boat. Fernald and Phil were rowing, the twins were sitting up front with the telescope, and Ainsley was lying on their back in the boat. Evidently, large lake travel didn't agree with them.

Luckily, they were nearly at their destination- which was a relief, because the Count had been waxing poetical about the sea for at least the last half hour, and even Fernald was starting to get sick of listening to him.

They finally pulled into one of the little jetties on the lake's shores, next to an abandoned sailboat rental agency. If anyone noticed the six unusual individuals that climbed out of the boats, they didn't say anything. Even when Ainsley stumbled and almost fell overboard, the few passersby barely noticed. Fernald reached out an arm, helping them to shore.

"It's alright, buddy, I've got you," he assured them, which earned him a small smile that he found strangely endearing. Just then, the Count, having noticed the rental agency building, turned to address the troupe.

"Ladies, gentlemen, henchperson," he announced, and Fernald watched as Ainsley's smile disappeared. "I know exactly how we're going to blend into this town. I just need..." he trailed off, noticing one of the restaurants in the promenade, The Anxious Clown. "I just need to take care of a little problem first."

* * *

He'd done it again. He'd singled Ainsley out, given them some title that was lower than the ones he gave the others. Although, they supposed that _henchperson_ was a step up from _the other one_. Not a huge step up, granted, but a step up nonetheless.

With the waiter tied up, the troupe gathered round one of the tables in The Anxious Clown, and worked on various bits and pieces that would help bring the Captain Sham scheme to life. The twins designed a business card that the Count could make a few copies of, and Fernald, Phil and Ainsley were meant to be making a couple of signs that could go on the shop.

So far, Ainsley and Phil were the only ones who'd made any meaningful progress, as Fernald was frowning down at the table, studying his hooks. He'd been in a weird mood since the Count had confirmed the name of his current target- Josephine Anwhistle. Ainsley nudged him gently.

"Hey," they muttered. "Is everything okay?" They reached out and patted one of his hooks. They dimly remembered doing something like that the last time they'd been drunk, though that felt like it had been a long time ago- despite the fact that it had actually been less than a week.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He paused. "Hey, I mean to ask, what was that audition you had? The one you had to cancel?" He was trying to change the subject, and Ainsley let him.

"It was for a play called Equus." Fernald nodded.

"I think I've heard of it- it sounded a bit weird, but also like something you'd be into."

"That's what we thought, too," said the twins.

"You guys knew about the audition?" They both nodded. Fernald turned to Ainsley. "Why didn't you tell me?" He sounded legitimately bothered by the apparent exclusion, but Ainsley couldn't tell for sure. They shrugged.

"I was going to tell you, I just didn't get round to it." Fernald opened his mouth to respond, but just at that moment, the Count hobbled into the room. He had transformed himself into Captain Sham, sailboat rental agent, complete with an actual wooden peg leg. He didn't ask the troupe for their opinions, but they were all full of praise anyway- even if Ainsley personally thought that the peg leg was a bit much. They wouldn't say so, of course- it was clear that, while Nurse Lucafont could be critiqued and assessed, Captain Sham was above criticism or reproach of any kind, however harmless.

"Showtime everyone, let's go!" he announced, clapping his hands and leading them out into the streets.

* * *

Convincing Mrs. Anwhistle to believe in their disguises was surprisingly easy- even with the faux French accent Fernald had adopted. The hard part was remaining neutral throughout the exchange. _Anwhistle_. The name was knocking around in his head like a bowling ball, heavy and persistent, bringing up things he would much rather forget, questions he'd prefer to ignore.

_Did she know?_

_Did she know what was going on?_

_Had she known what they were going to do? _And perhaps, most importantly...

_Would she have done anything to stop them?_

They were alone on the dock now- the Count and Mrs. Anwhistle had left. Ainsley was looking at him strangely. It took him a moment to realise that the look on their face was concern- which meant two things.

On the one hand, it meant that whatever he was feeling was written plain enough on his face that even Ainsley could see it. On the other hand, it also meant that whatever Ainsley was feeling must be pretty strong, if it could poke through their usual shield of indifference.

For a moment, he thought about telling them- them as in the whole troupe, not just them as in Ainsley- everything. About Anwhistle Aquatics, about why it was destroyed, all of it. But then Maud lightly punched her sister in the arm, and he was brought back to the present.

"I _told_ you we'd made a mistake with that slogan, Millie. You made us look so stupid!"

"This is just like that science test we had in first year, do you remember? If you thought there was something wrong with what I was doing, you should've told me outright, and saved us both from looking like fools." They'd also had the option of asking Fernald, Ainsley or Phil to double check it, but none of them had thought of that at the time. So, when you looked at it like that, the mistake was on all of them, not just Mildred.

"That's true, I suppose." She smiled. "Still, it was nice of the Count not to mention that the mistake had been ours, not his. And as she pointed out, it is a common mistake." By now, the troupe had reached The Anxious Clown. Phil held open the door, and the twins entered the restaurant.

For a moment, Fernald remained still outside. He didn't want to have to go in and pretend everything was normal, to get the place ready for the Count's date later. The very idea of having to have any part in that was deeply, deeply unsettling. It wasn't that he was jealous- or at least, it wasn't just that he was jealous. It was the fact that, even though the Count knew what had happened to him, he was still making him be involved in all of this.

He was pulled out of the past by a hand wrapping around his wrist. Glancing up, he saw that the hand belonged to Ainsley, who had the same concerned frown from earlier on their face. He looked down at their hand, then back up. Immediately, they let go.

"Sorry about that," they muttered, suddenly awkward and embarrassed. "I didn't... I just thought... It seemed like..." He waited for them to find their words, but they didn't- instead, they stopped talking.

"Ainsley, buddy, it's alright. Don't worry about it, okay? Let's just get inside." And with that, he pushed open the door of the restaurant and went in, Ainsley following behind him.

* * *

Of course, they couldn't stay long- just long enough to make up the fried egg sandwiches, and serve them up when the Count and Josephine arrived. Ainsley worked with Fernald to prepare the food, and the twins handed the sandwiches over. The waiter remained tied to his chair. Apparently, he and Josephine had once known each other, a long time ago, and they couldn't risk her recognising him.

As soon as the food had been served, there was only one thing left for the troupe to do- drive up to Josephine's ancient house and make sure that the orphans didn't leave it. It was rare that there was truly enough space in the Count's car for all of them, that all five of them could sit comfortably without feeling squashed. Ainsley sat in the back seat, next to the twins. It didn't occur to them, not until the car was well on its way out of the town and up the hill, that one of them probably should've stayed with the waiter, just in case.

They reached the top of the hill just in time, just as the three orphans were leaving the house. Ainsley wondered what exactly they were hoping to achieve- after all, if Josephine had believed the Count so far, then it seemed pretty unlikely that she'd change her mind now, no matter what they said.

There still remained the matter of the waiter, though. Ainsley knew that they ought to have made sure that someone had stayed behind in the cafe, even if that meant staying on their own, with someone they didn't know. But the knowledge that this was what they should've done didn't bother them half as much as the knowledge that, apparently, Fernald hadn't actually noticed they were in the car until they'd spoken up earlier.

_This is ridiculous,_ they thought, as they looked out of the window into the gloomy night. _Why should it matter what he thinks? _Of course, Ainsley knew exactly why they cared so much about Fernald's opinion, but this wasn't the time to be thinking about that.

"Why don't we put some music on?" suggested Mildred.

"Yes, that should help us to pass the time along, " added Maud. Reaching into her cardigan pocket, she produced a small, unmarked tape, and handed it to Fernald. "Here we go, now let's pop that in, shall we?" Fernald did as she said, and pressed play.

_What's new, pussycat, woah, woah, woah, woah!_  
_ What's new, pussycat, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah!_

* * *

Fernald was going to punch this stupid tape deck if he had to hear this stupid song one more stupid time. Phil was convinced that this was the fourth time they'd heard it. Fernald thought it must've been on twice, and it was just far longer than any of them had realised. He honestly didn't know which was worse. Phil had, somehow, managed to remain irritatingly indifferent throughout the whole thing, while Fernald kept getting angrier with each recurring verse.

Finally, the song stopped. Then there was a pause. Then, a mere second or two later, it started again.

"Goddammit!" Was this nightmare ever going to end? Fortunately, at that moment, the Count's voice came on over the walkie talkie.

"Henchpeople, henchpeople, are you there?" Phil picked up the walkie talkie before Fernald had a chance.

"Yeah, boss, we're all here. The Baudelaires are-"

"Never mind the Baudelaires. I'll be up there in two minutes. You lot, meanwhile, will get back down to the restaurant right now. It seems somebody left that obnoxious waiter unsupervised." He disconnected the call before any of them had a chance to say they were sorry.

By the time they reached the restaurant, briefly passing the Count in his taxi on the way, Fernald was getting pretty tired. It had been a long day, and it was a relief to know that it was almost over.

He parked the car outside The Anxious Clown, and the troupe climbed out. Well, most of them, at any rate. Fernald looked behind him into the back seat, which was when he noticed that Ainsley had fallen asleep at some point on the way down. Carefully, he reached back and nudged them awake.

"Come on, buddy, let's go." He climbed out of the car, and held open Ainsley's door for them.

"You didn't have to do that- but thanks, anyway." He nodded, and the two of them entered the restaurant.

"That's the second time this has happened," Maud observed when they'd closed the door.

"Is there anything you want to tell us?" Mildred asked. They both shook their heads and, thankfully, the matter was dropped.

* * *

The next morning, the troupe opened up the restaurant. At some point, the Count would be dropping by with the Baudelaires and their ever-useless banker, in order to have brunch. Of course, that wouldn't be all that was happening- the Count would also be doing the paperwork necessary to become the orphans' legal guardian again. Ainsley didn't know the specifics beyond that- they only knew that Josephine had been taken care of, and that was all that mattered.

When the Count and his companions entered the restaurant, the troupe allowed the waiter to leave the kitchen area and take their orders. There was only one condition, of course- he was not allowed to say anything out of the ordinary to the Baudelaires.

"I don't like this," Ainsley said. They were sitting on the table, frowning down at their hands. "I don't see why we can't do something- even if it's just something small, something that the boss won't notice. Two people are dead- how many more will there be before this is over?"

"This isn't the time to be talking about moral dilemmas," Phil pointed out. "And even if it was, talking won't do any good anyway. It's not like we actually could do anything."

"I know we can't," Ainsley replied, with a sigh. "It's just... It's frustrating, knowing all of these things are happening and there's nothing we can do about it, other than what we're told. We've got no active role in any of this outside of the ones we're given. It's-" Before they could say any more, the door opened and the waiter came in.

"Okay, waiter-" Fernald began.

"I've told you at least a dozen times now, my name is Larry!"

"And we've told you a dozen times, we don't care." Ainsley frowned, wondering where this conversation was going. "As I was about to say, waiter, we're going to give you one chance, only one, to do something for those brats. Use it very, very carefully, understand?" The waiter studied Fernald for a moment, the oddest expression on his face. Then he shook his head, and went over to work on the Cheer Up Cheeseburgers.

"What was all that about?" Phil asked.

"Maybe it's time we tried to play an active role, even if it's just a small one." He looked over at Ainsley for a moment, and they nodded.

"I was actually referring to that weird look the waiter gave you, like he was trying to remember where he saw you last or something."

"That's nothing- I probably just look like someone he used to know, it happens." Ainsley frowned, studying the menu they'd managed to find lying around. There was something that Fernald wasn't telling any of them, something worse and more relevant to the plot than his other secrets.

Ainsley wanted to find out what it was, and they were about to ask, when something on the menu caught their eye, and effectively distracted them. This place had many pasta dishes, but it did not have pasta puttenesca. And Ainsley had recently learned the recipe- maybe the waiter would want to know it too?

* * *

_What on Earth were they taking about?_ Fernald wondered, as he watched Ainsley attempting to make conversation with the waiter. For a moment, he remembered Fiona, talking to one of the rare guests they'd had on the Queequeg, reciting facts she'd found in one of her mycology books in that strange accent that didn't sound like anyone else's on the submarine. Then he was back in the present, watching as Ainsley continued to talk at the waiter. He stepped closer, and managed to catch a little of what they were saying.

"Then you sauté the garlic, and then..." Wait. Were they talking about _food?_ Not just that, were they giving out _recipes?_ Fernald glanced up at the ceiling, like he was looking for some kind of divine guidance. Then, he grabbed Ainsley's sleeve.

"Stop being friendly to him!" he snapped, and pulled them to their feet. As he did so, he heard a small sound, like fabric tearing.

"You ripped my sleeve," Ainsley said, studying the damage- which wasn't particularly severe, granted.

"It doesn't look that bad," Fernald muttered, also studying the damage. Just then, the phone rang. The waiter went to pick it up, but he'd barely got two minutes into his conversation when Fernald snatched the phone out of his hand- and then proceeded to get into a fight with the irritating device.

"You need to calm down," Ainsley told him, firmly. "I know you were jealous yesterday, but you can't take it out on us- especially since the person you were jealous of in the first place is no longer a problem." Fernald glared up at them. Sometimes- largely due to Ainsley's terrible posture- he forgot that they were actually taller than him. Which was why, any time Ainsley did stand at their full height, it was a little intimidating.

"I wasn't jealous." Ainsley held up a hand.

"Please- I've known you long enough to know exactly who you wish the Count would hit on, and it's not Josephine Anwhistle."

"Okay, maybe you're right about that part. But you really know nothing if you think that's the only reason I had a problem with her." He sighed. "Maybe that's on me, though- there's a lot I haven't told you guys, a lot that you don't know. I'd prefer to keep it that way, but if-" As if on cue, the Count chose this moment to come hobbling into the kitchen.

"We have a problem. It turns out that those Baudelaire brats are allergic to peppermints, and that wretched waiter just happened to give them some."

"Isn't that a good thing to know?" Phil asked. "It could be one of those Achilles heel things that could come in handy." The Count gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Yes, I suppose it's useful information to have in general terms, but right now it's a serious problem! They've managed to run off, and I don't know where they've got to." He paused. "To stay on the safe side, though, I need one of you to go to the sailboat rental agency building. We can't be too careful, can we?" He looked at each of them in turn, then pointed to Ainsley. "You go."

"I don't really see the point." The Count glared at them.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah- I mean, at no point so far have any of us actually been able to stop those children from doing anything. We weren't able to stop them from building grappling hooks or studying nuptial law, and we certainly weren't able to stop Nancy Drew and mini Sherlock from solving Dr. Montgomery's murder. So, if they're going to borrow one of the sailboats- and frankly, I don't see why they would given that we're in the middle of a hurricane and everything- they'll probably do so regardless of our efforts."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion!" The Count stormed over to Ainsley, and raised a hand to strike them across the face.

"Boss," Fernald cut in, and both Ainsley and the Count turned to him. "Leave it- I'll go." The Count sighed, and took a few steps back.

"Fine. Just leave, before I change my mind." With that, both Fernald and the Count left the kitchen, Fernald grabbing a waterproof jacket on his way out.

The banker didn't notice Fernald when he walked out of the restaurant and into the storm. Hurricane Herman was well under way, and the streets were empty. Even the taxi he'd seen roaming around the town was nowhere in sight. Fernald sprinted towards the rental agency building, and was relieved when he finally reached it.

The inside of the building was dark and a bit damp. But, there were a few dry logs next to the small fireplace, and once he'd discovered those, it was easy enough to start a fire and warm the place up a bit. Once that was done, though, he was left with another, slightly more pressing problem. Apart from a few dull -looking magazines and a small pile of board games, there was nothing in this building with which he could occupy his time for the next few hours.

Well, that wasn't entirely true- there was always his thoughts, and the last couple of days had certainly given him plenty to think about. Plenty to remember- though he was going to continue to avoid those memories for as long as possible. With those safely locked away and hidden from thought, he was surprised to find his thoughts wandering to Ainsley, of all people.

It was clear that something was bothering them- though whatever it was, he couldn't exactly tell for sure. His first thought was that it was something to do with the audition they'd missed- it would explain why their heart hadn't really been in this scheme. He may need to talk to them about that- he had the feeling that the next time they challenged the Count, he wouldn't be quite as willing to let it slide.

There was also the matter of the audition itself, and the fact that Ainsley had, apparently, told everyone in the troupe about it except for him. He didn't know why that exclusion bothered him, but it did, in a nagging, persistent way that he couldn't quite shake.

It was safe to say that something about his friend had definitely changed, though what exactly he couldn't tell. They always seemed to be fussing over their hair, or their clothes, or some other trivial little detail that, when they'd first joined the troupe, they hadn't cared about. What had changed?

He sighed, and picked up one of the magazines. Clearly, he was getting nowhere with this line of thinking. Whatever was going on, he'd have to go directly to the source, and actually talk to Ainsley about it. Well, once he'd apologised for tearing their sleeve, anyway.

* * *

Shortly after the storm broke, the Count informed the remaining members of the troupe that he wanted to take a boat out onto the lake. He'd gone back to Josephine's house, and found something interesting- though he wouldn't say anything beyond that.

Ainsley had to go and fetch Fernald, then get to the (comfortingly large) boat that the Count had borrowed. They walked up to the rental agency building, and wondered if they were imagining things, or if there actually was one less boat than there had been earlier. They pulled open the door, and found Fernald inside. He had a pencil grasped in one hook, and was in the middle of doing a crossword puzzle.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but we kind of have to go," they said, holding open the door for him. Fernald set down the pencil and the magazine, and got to his feet.

"Ainsley. Hi." For a moment, they stood there, studying each other- though Ainsley wasn't entirely sure what they were expecting to see. Finally, Fernald broke the silence. "What's happened?"

"I don't know- the Count wouldn't give us any details. We should probably get going regardless, though." Fernald nodded, and left the building. Ainsley closed the door and followed him, though it wasn't difficult for them to catch up. They didn't get far, though, before Fernald stopped them.

"Hey, I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier- and ripped your sleeve." Ainsley shrugged.

"Don't worry about it- nothing was damaged that can't be fixed." Fernald nodded- then he turned around, and noticed the sailboats.

"Is it just me, or does it look like there's one less of those than there was earlier?"

"I knew trying to guard those things would be pointless," Ainsley said, and continued down the pier.

The journey across the lake was pleasantly smooth, and surprisingly short. Overall, it didn't bother Ainsley all that much. What happened when they actually found what they were looking for, though, did. It didn't surprise them, somehow, to learn the Baudelaires had actually stolen a sailboat and taken it out across the lake in a hurricane. Even the realisation that Josephine was still alive didn't seem that surprising. Life was already so weird- sometimes you just had to shrug and let things happen.

"I have had enough of your schemes and your villainy!" Josephine declared. Ainsley looked at her, then at the Count. No, they weren't imagining it- he was moving towards the open section of the railings, forcing Josephine to inch closer to it as well. As it became clear what he was going to do, Ainsley had the sudden urge to stop him- even though they knew that was impossible. And as Josephine was pushed off the boat, and left at the mercy of the Lachrymose Leeches, they found their gaze dropping to the floor, unable to look at anything or anyone else.

When the ship pulled into Damocles Dock soon after, Ainsley wasn't particularly surprised to see that the banker was standing there waiting for them.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked the orphans, as if they were the ones most deserving of his irritation. They clearly weren't in the mood to deal with him either, and Ainsley couldn't blame them. It was almost a relief when they finally got through to him, and the Count was exposed.

As the troupe piled into the getaway car and drove away, Ainsley watched the lake for as long as they could. They may not have known Josephine Anwhistle, nor known the strange history that seemed to link her with Fernald. But the fact remained that this was the second person who'd died so far as a result of the Count's quest for the Baudelaire fortune- at least, it was the second one that Ainsley had been aware of. And as they made their way back into the city, they couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, how much worse was this going to get- and how much longer they could keep doing this before they quit.


	4. The Horrible Hypnotist

Once again, the troupe had scarcely been back in the city before the Count got in contact with them again. As Fernald went to pick up the phone, all he could think of was, why hadn't the Count just told them to follow him or something, if he was just going to summon them so soon anyway?

"What is it, boss?"

"Ah, Hooky- I thought this was your number. I only have you down as Henchperson 1 in my address book, so I wasn't sure." Fernald knew that he should be upset that Olaf was so dismissive of him but all he could think of was, _Henchperson 1._ "Anyway, I have a job for you. How fast can you get to Paltryville?"

"I'll get there as fast as I can." He paused. "What do you want me to do there?"

"It would seem that they have a job opening, at the Lucky Smells Lumber Mill- I suggested somebody, a Foreman Flacutono, and they seemed quite keen."

"What about the others?" He could practically see Olaf shaking his head.

"Never mind them, they'll just take up space and look suspicious." He paused. "Although... I suppose if you could find a use for one of them, that wouldn't be so bad. Just don't show up with the whole troupe, are we clear?"

"Yes, boss." Before he could say anything more, the Count disconnected the call. For a moment, Fernald looked down at the phone. Then, he picked the receiver back up, and carefully, awkwardly, dialled Ainsley's number.

"This is Ainsley Orlando, what do you want?"

"Ainsley, buddy, it's me, Fernald. Can I talk to you about something?" There was a pause.

"Okay, what's up?" He told them everything the Count had told him- including the suggestion that he bring one other member of the troupe. "Have you asked anyone else?" they asked.

"No- just you." There was another pause. "So, what do you think? Do you wanna come?"

"I... I can't. I've got a date," they added, by way of explanation. Fernald blinked.

"You have a..." he trailed off.

"A date, yeah. At least... I think that's what it is. I went back to the theatre as soon as you guys dropped me off, to try and see if there was anything I could do about the Equus situation. Then I started talking to this guy, and... well, I wasn't really sure how to interpret what was going on, but he did ask if I wanted to get coffee this afternoon, so..." It took Fernald a moment to process this information, and formulate an appropriate response.

"That's great! Well, I hope you have a good time- you can tell me about it when I get back from Paltryville, yeah?"

"Yeah." He wondered if he was imagining things, or if there really was a slight hint of disappointment in Ainsley's voice, like they hadn't expected him to be quite so enthusiastic. Before he could mention it, though, there was a click at the other end of the line, as Ainsley hung up.

Once again, Fernald took a moment to look down at the phone after setting the receiver down. This time, though, he didn't pick it back up again. He didn't call the twins, nor did he call Phil- though by rights, he ought to be the one going to Paltryville, since they'd agreed that it was his turn to play a part in the next scheme.

Instead of that, though, he paced up and down the room, turning over what Ainsley had told him in his mind. Something about it bothered him- though he knew, of course, that that was ridiculous. He'd never given much thought to what the others did outside of their work within Olaf's troupe- why did it suddenly matter what Ainsley did with their free time? Deep down, of course, he had some idea of the answer to that question. But it was an answer which came with a lot of implications and other assorted baggage, none of which he was especially keen to unpack right now. Instead, he decided to put it out of his head and get to Paltryville- hopefully the scheme would be enough to distract him.

When he reached Paltryville, the first thought that came into Fernald's mind was, _okay, where's the rest of it?_ He'd heard of the Paltryville fire, of course, but that had been well over a decade ago now. Hadn't anyone thought to start rebuilding it yet? The only things that were still intact were the lumber mill, and a building with an all-too-familiar design on the window. He'd known the building was there, so it wasn't a huge surprise. The fact that it had survived when so much of the town had gone, however, was a surprise.

He made his way towards the old headquarters, and knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal the Count. Fernald had almost expected to find him in some kind of disguise, but he wasn't- he just looked like himself. Though that didn't surprise him- not as much as the realisation that, whatever strange thrill he always used to get when he saw the Count, was much fainter than it usually was.

"Hooky, there you are. Come this way." He led him through a hallway, then a waiting room, up the stairs, and finally into a large room. A vaguely familiar woman wearing a white lab coat was leaning against the desk. "Georgina, this is one of my henchpeople, er... Hooky."

"That's not actually my-" Fernald started to say, but the Count cut him off.

"Anyway, you'll start work as the foreman in the morning. You don't need to do much- just shout a lot, tell everyone what to do... and, if you get the chance, stage an unfortunate little accident involving the middle Baudelaire."

"Got it, boss." The Count nodded, then he looked around the room.

"I thought you were going to bring one of the others?"

"Nobody was free," he said, simply. The Count frowned- and something about the expression made him slightly uneasy.

"I see. I thought you might have brought... what's their name... Tall, dark hair, awkward?"

"Ainsley?" Why was he specifying Ainsley?

"Yes, that's the one. After what happened at The Anxious Clown, I was hoping that Dr Orwell here could work her magic on them, make sure we don't have any more little hiccups." Fernald blinked, trying to understand what he was saying. What had he been planning to do? Then he saw one of the books in the doctor's bookcase- Hypnosis In The Modern World. Had he been going to _hypnotise_ Ainsley? "Oh well, maybe we can deal with that after we're done here."

"Yeah, maybe," he replied- because it was easier than saying what he'd wanted to, than telling the Count that he would do no such thing. Not to Ainsley, not to any of them. But he couldn't make those words leave his mouth, even though he wanted them to.

"Right, now that we've gotten that out of the way, you get along to the mill. It's log day tomorrow, whatever that means." He handed Fernald a couple of large pots, and a gas mask. "You'll need these, for the morning." Then he turned away, back to Dr Orwell, and Fernald was dismissed.

He didn't sleep well that night, his head churning with thoughts of the Count and Ainsley and Dr Orwell. A picture started to form in his mind, and though it was uncomfortable and unsettling, he couldn't look away from it.

The Count hadn't forgotten what Ainsley had said in The Anxious Clown- their refusal, their explanation. He knew that they trusted Fernald, had assumed that if he asked one to come here he would get the other. And he'd hoped that, while he was in Paltryville and stealing the Baudelaire fortune, he would have a chance to sort Ainsley out while he was at it. If it hadn't been for their date, it might have worked out, too.

The next morning, he made his way down to the mill, already in a foul mood. Settling into a little booth with the helpful label of, "Foreman," he picked up the two pans and started banging them together. There was a loudspeaker in front of him, so he held the pots in front of it and continued banging them, making sure the noise could be heard all over the mill.

"Get to work! It's log day!" he yelled into the loudspeaker, then set down the pans and waited. There wasn't really much to do in the foreman's booth, other than wait for his opportunity.

It didn't come until after the workers had taken a break. He'd spent the morning flicking through the latest edition of the Daily Punctillio, trying to distract himself with badly reported news stories and updates about what was supposed to be in fashion right now. Apparently, pinstripe suits were meant to make a comeback next season, as were aqueous martinis.

At first, he didn't notice Klaus Baudelaire approaching his cubicle. Then he spotted him out of the corner of his eye, crawling on the ground near his feet. What on Earth was he doing? Wasn't this supposed to be the baby's preferred mode of travel?

Then he reached for Fernald's ankle, and his intentions became clear. Ah. He thought that it was the Count in this booth. Which meant he was looking for proof. Which meant he was looking for the Count's ankle tattoo. That would make sense, he supposed, except...

Wait. Did he- and perhaps by extension his sisters- seriously think that Olaf's tattoo was unique? Hadn't they seen the tattoos their parents had? Even once?

He frowned. Up until now, he'd assumed the orphans had at least a basic knowledge of VFD. He hadn't realised they'd been so sheltered that the boy wouldn't have known that if he'd checked and seen Fernald's tattoo, that it wouldn't actually have proved his theory.

After that, it was surprisingly easy to knock him over, and break his glasses.He wasn't especially proud of it, admittedly, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that the job was done. One of the other workers took him away, off to Dr Orwell. Now he just had to sit back in his booth and await further instructions.

They came that night, the Count summoning him to Dr Orwell's office. This time, he had donned a disguise- though this was decidedly different from the last two. This disguise involved a honey blonde wig, and heels, and a floral skirt and pink sweater. It was a good enough disguise, but he couldn't help remembering another disguise, just a few days ago now. A blue dress, multi-coloured nails hidden beneath pink rubber gloves, the smell of hairspray... At the time, he'd said the whole thing was a bit much, and at the time, he'd meant it. But right now, he wasn't so sure. Right now, he thought it had been just enough, and the Count was the one who'd overdone it.

"I'm guessing another vacancy opened up?" Fernald asked, gesturing to the disguise and managed to sound like he hadn't just been thinking about Ainsley's Nurse Lucafont disguise, and deciding that it looked better than Olaf's current get-up.

"Dr Orwell needed a secretary. And I needed a way to convince Mr Krabbs to hand over the Baudelaires to me." It took him a second to realise that the Count was referring to the mill's owner, the man known only as "Sir."

"How are you going to convince him to give them up, though? You had to kill the last two, and even that didn't work." The Count got an all-too-familiar gleam in his eye.

"That man doesn't care about anything besides financial gain," he began, completely glossing over the irony in his words. "If the Baudelaires became a financial burden, he'd probably be thrilled to get rid of them. So, to aid with that, we're going to stage a little accident." Fernald frowned.

"But, boss, didn't we just do that yesterday?" Olaf closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, I am perfectly aware of what happened yesterday, you dexterously challenged buffoon. But right now, the situation has called for something a bit bigger than a cracked pair of glasses. If this is going to work, then the boy needs to be behind a deadly accident. Nothing else will get through that cloud of smoke and convince the owner to let the three of them go."

"But, boss... How are we going to make that happen? All three of them are so morally good it's kind of embarrassing." The gleam was back.

"Not when they've been hypnotised, they aren't. Thanks to the work of Dr Orwell, Klaus Baudelaire will do whatever we want. And all we need to do is say one little word- lucky."

"That's it?"

"That's it," he confirmed. "Now, get going- and remember, you're in charge tomorrow. Whatever happens, make it big, make it obvious, and make it deadly." And once again, Fernald was dismissed, just like that.

Another weird night followed. He did try to sleep, he really did. But his thoughts kept wandering. By now, he was starting to miss the rest of the troupe- and it didn't help that one of the workers was called Phil. It didn't matter that the only thing the two of them shared was a name, it was more than enough. He even missed the twins- they'd have more fun with this whole "causing accidents" thing than he was so far. They seemed to delight in this side of the henchperson gig, getting to cause mischief and chaos without having to worry too much about the consequences.

And, of course, there was Ainsley. By now, they would be done with their date. He wondered how it had went, what the mystery guy had been like. At first, his speculations were perfectly reasonable, the sort of thing any concerned friend would wonder. Had he been polite? Respectful? Had he listened attentively when Ainsley started talking, or had he interrupted them, made them shut up?

It didn't take long for him to start thinking about other things, though, mostly about Ainsley. Had they talked, or had they just said nothing, silenced by the ambiguous situation and the unclear expectations of a stranger? Worse than that, had they flirted? Had they sat there, twirling their hair and laughing at jokes that weren't funny?

He shook his head. Why was that the worse case scenario here? Again, the uncomfortable truth poked its head above the parapet. This time, he allowed one word to linger in his head. _Jealous_. That was weird. Why was he jealous of some stranger, rather than Dr Orwell, who the Count clearly had a history with? He shoved the thought out of his head, and tried to go to sleep.

The next morning, he decided to test out how effective the hypnosis had actually been. When he saw Klaus Baudelaire walk into the mill, carrying the baby with him, staring straight ahead and walking with more purpose than anyone had any right to that early in the morning, he knew that it had worked. Now, there was just the matter of the accident.

He was just about to put a plan in motion when he noticed what was happening over at the... whatever the machine was that he'd placed the boy at. All three orphans were talking, and while he couldn't tell what exactly they were saying, eventually the girl said something that managed to snap the boy out of his hypnosis. Well, that was just great. Absolutely fantastic. This definitely boded well for the success of the scheme going forward.

He was about to say something, reinforce the hypnosis, when the phone in his booth rang.

"Boss, the Baudelaires-" he began

"What about them?" A pause. "No, never mind- just give them this message- they have a visitor, who's waiting behind the very fancy door. Don't ask questions, it's all part of the plan. Just remember to announce visiting hours are over in about twenty minutes or so."

"Got it," Fernald muttered. He made the announcement, and went back to watching the other workers. Then, he set a timer for twenty minutes, and waited.

"Lucky Smells visiting hours are over, get back to work!" he announced, finally, and waited for the Baudelaires to trail back in. It was almost time for the accident, he decided, and when the three orphans walked back in, the boy once again staring straight ahead and paying no attention to his sisters, he knew it was time.

In the end, he didn't have to do very much. He just had to tell the boy to man one of the machines- the one that was responsible for stamping the mill's logo onto the newly prepared planks. Then, he shouted at him a bit, for good measure, and his hypnosis-addled brain did the rest.

There was a scream, and then it was over, job done. Well, that wasn't quite true- a great deal of chaos preceded the scream. At some point, the boy lost control of the machine, and the debarker dispenser was smashed- and somebody had fallen onto the newest pile of planks.

He looked over at the stamping machine, assessing the damage. One of the workers had got their leg trapped under the stamper, and it had been flattened into oblivion. It was the cheery one, Phil. Fernald knew that he should probably feel worse about this- and he knew that if this had happened to the Phil he knew, the one in the troupe, he wouldn't be anywhere near this apathetic. The truth was, though, that so many worse things had happened by now, it was hard to care about the suffering of a stranger, however nice he may seem.

The incident managed to attract the attention of the owner, who seemed far more concerned with the broken dispenser than with the fact that somebody had literally lost a leg. Not that Fernald was in any position to talk, but still. He could guess what Ainsley would say about the owner's attitude if they were here- probably something about it being a symptom of capitalism. They'd say a lot more besides, but that would be the general gist.

He turned his attention to the Baudelaires, who were being given one last chance by the owner. One more incident, and they'd be out. Challenge accepted, Fernald thought, settling back into his booth.

His orders came that night. He had to go and wake the boy up- remembering to say the word lucky in order to reinstate the hypnosis, of course- then return to the mill and watch the accident. He'd have preferred not to be there for that bit, but the Count had insisted. Once everything was in position, Fernald decided that he might as well ditch the mask. If this went the way it was supposed to, there would only be two people in the room who could confirm his identity. And since one of them was the Count, and one was the boy, it was unlikely that either of them would get him in trouble.

Things, of course, did not go the way they were supposed to. Firstly, the other two orphans came in, and despite his best efforts, the girl managed to not only work out the word to break the workers' hypnosis, but get to the loudspeaker and shout it so the whole mill could hear. Then, the next thing he knew, there were the sounds of an angry mob running towards the building. The Count told him to hold the door shut, but he didn't need to. Of course, the mob were far harder to restrain than he'd expected, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold them back. And, of course, he couldn't really blame them- after all, most people wouldn't be too happy to realise they'd been hypnotised and made to work in a lumber mill for coupons and gum.

Things did not get any better after that. Dr Orwell came in- though how she'd managed to get past the angry mob was unclear. She and the Count were soon locked in a heated argument, and as Fernald watched them go back and forth, he wondered how he could've ever felt envious of them, even a little. They were both horrible to each other. Finally, Dr Orwell went to say something, but the Count cut her off. Something seemed to click with the girl.

"Inordinate!" she shouted over the noise. "Klaus, inordinate!" And, just like that, the boy was shaken out of his hypnosis yet again. There went their plans for the fatal accident. Of course, by this point, it was clear that they had bigger problems, like the fact that the mob were moments away from breaking through the doors, and the fact that Dr Orwell had gotten a hold of the baby, and looked like she was about to throw her into the incinerator. Then, in the next few minutes, three things happened.

1\. The mob burst through the door, and charged into the mill.

2\. Sunny Baudelaire did not fall into the incinerator.

3\. Dr Georgina Orwell, on the other hand, did.

And just like that, the Lucky Smells Lumber Mill had their fatal accident, and the Count's quest for the Baudelaire fortune had a body count of three- well, five if you included the parents.

Whatever was supposed to happen after the accident, however, did not happen. Instead, with the workers crowded round the incinerator, and Dr Orwell's broken glasses on the floor, Fernald knew that there was only one thing to do- get out of there, right now. The Count had the same idea, of course, and together they ran out of the mill as fast as they could.

When he finally got back to the city, the first thing he did was phone Ainsley.

"Hey, I'm back from Paltryville."

"How was it?" they asked, and Fernald tried to tell them in as much detail as he could, while managing to leave out the thoughts he'd had about them- particularly the ones regarding their date- as well as the plans the Count had had for them if they'd been unfortunate enough to come to the mill.

"What about you?" he asked after a moment. "How was your date?" He could almost hear Ainsley shrug.

"He never turned up," they said, sounding genuinely unfazed by the fact. "I don't mind, though- it probably wouldn't have been much fun anyway. Considering how long it took me to open up with you guys, meeting a stranger like that would've been too awkward." He frowned. They really didn't seem affected by what had happened, but it was so hard to tell.

"Could you meet me at the cafe tomorrow? I want to talk to you in person, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll be there." They paused for a moment. "Fernald," they said, "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," he replied, and disconnected the call.

The next day, Fernald arrived at the cafe a few minutes after one. He hadn't meant to be late, but he'd ended up taking the long way to the cafe, to avoid passing by the Count's house. Ainsley was already there when he went in, a mug of coffee in front of them. He ordered a cup too, and went to join Ainsley at their table.

"Hey," he said as he sat down. It had only been three days since he'd last seen Ainsley, but it didn't feel like it had been. It felt like it had been much, much longer. They hadn't changed- they were still wearing clothes that didn't quite work together, yet they somehow managed to pull off, their hair was still the same dark brown. But, even so, sitting here in front of them for the first time in days, it felt as though something had changed, shifted in the space between them. Whatever it was, though, he didn't know.

"Hey," they replied. "What did you want to talk about?" He noticed that one of their hands was gripping their coffee mug, while the other was fiddling with their hair. They were nervous, he realised. They were nervous, and he was about to make everything so much worse.

"There's something I didn't tell you, about what happened at Paltryville." For a moment, he thought about saying something else, something kind and harmless, but he didn't. He couldn't. "Okay, you know how I was telling you about the hypnotist the Count was working with?" he began. "Well, when I got to her office, the Count asked me if I'd brought anyone else. He was... he was expecting me to bring you. I think he was going to hypnotise you, make sure that what happened at The Anxious Clown wouldn't happen again. I think... I think he was going to make it so that you couldn't talk anymore, or something like that." At first, Ainsley didn't say anything.

"What?" they said eventually. "He... what?" Fernald waited for them to calm down, then rested a hook on their arm.

"I know, it's screwed up." That didn't even begin to cover it, he knew, but at least it was a start.

"Yeah, you could say that." Another pause. "Fernald, I don't think I can do this much longer."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm thinking about leaving the troupe." Fernald opened his mouth to speak, but they held up a hand. "No, just hear me out for a moment. Since we started trying to get the Baudelaire fortune, three people have died, we've hounded and traumatised three children probably beyond repair at this point, and we've done it all on the orders of a self-absorbed narcissist who is so afraid of being challenged that, just because I didn't say "how high" when he said "jump," he was going to get his ex to turn me into a big, silent lump."

Fernald honestly wasn't sure what to say to all this. While part of him wished that he could talk Ainsley out of this decision, he didn't know where to start. They weren't wrong, he knew that they weren't, and that was what made this so difficult.

"Besides," they added, looking down at the table. "It's not as if the Count will notice anything if I leave. He might say something at the time, but he won't miss me or anything."

"I'd miss you," Fernald said, before he could think better of it. He shook his head. "I, I mean, we'd miss you. All of us, not... not just me. Phil, and the twins, all of us." He sighed. "Look... if you want to leave, I won't stop you. But... do you think you could give this one last chance? If you can't, it's fine, there won't be any judgement or anything." At first, Ainsley didn't say anything. They studied the table, their coffee, the chipped remnants of the varnish on their nails. Then, finally, they looked at Fernald.

"One last scheme," they said, though they sounded tired, almost resigned. "If someone dies this time, though, I'm leaving and I won't change my mind this time." Fernald nodded, and took a drink of coffee.

"Alright." He set down his mug. "I'm... I'm glad you're staying, even if it's just for a little longer." Ainsley nodded, and the two of them sat in silence for a while, drinking their coffee. Neither of them knew, of course, that in choosing to stay now, they had forfeited their last chance to leave Olaf and his schemes for a long time to come.


	5. The Sinister Schoolteachers

It felt like Ainsley had been waiting to hear from Count Olaf for ages. In reality, of course, it had only been a few days since their last proper summons to Lake Lachrymose. But with a couple of exceptions, such as meeting Fernald at the café and the date that wasn't, those few days had dragged on for long enough that they felt longer than they had actually been.

When the summons finally came, it was almost a relief. This could very well be Ainsley's last scheme- and if it ended in somebody's funeral, it certainly would be. They were keen to get started, and hopefully ease the uncertainty they felt about their future as an actor/ henchperson. So, when the call came telling them the next scheme would be at Prufrock Preparatory School, it was indeed a relief.

The Count's gray car pulled up outside Ainsley's house shortly after. They put their suitcase in the trunk, and climbed into the back, next to the twins. Phil, Fernald and the Count sat in the front seats. Not knowing how long the scheme would last, Ainsley had packed a few clothes and other supplies, anything that might come in handy. They'd even brought their Nurse Lucafont disguise, just in case.

"Right, is that everyone?" the Count asked, once Ainsley had closed the door. Already, they were already regretting this decision. The truth was, being a part of Count Olaf's terrible troupe would actually be alright if it weren't for Count Olaf, and he was essentially every reason why they'd wanted to quit.

"Yeah, boss, that's all of us," Fernald replied. For a moment, Ainsley thought he might turn around and look in the back, but he didn't. Instead, the Count turned the ignition on, and drove away.

* * *

The troupe didn't drive straight to Prufrock Prep, as Fernald had been expecting them to. Instead, they ended up parking in the woods near the school. Then they waited until they saw a bright yellow school bus come trundling along the road. The Count held out a hand.

"Hooky, if you don't mind..." It took Fernald a moment to realise what he was asking, and at first he wasn't sure if he wanted to comply. After all, his hooks were... well, they were _his_. Giving even one of them up, even temporarily, felt wrong.

Even so, he still unscrewed his right hook and handed it over. The Count didn't say anything, he just walked over to the roadside and awaited his opportunity.

Fernald sighed, and walked over to where the rest of the troupe were gathered. He stood next to Ainsley, who was looking from him to the Count and frowning.

"What?" he asked.

"Did he even thank you for lending a hook?" When he didn't say anything, they shook their head. "Thought so."

* * *

The school bus was not exactly overflowing with suitable supplies, and the ones that the troupe had brought with them were still stashed in Olaf's car. One of them would have to go back out to the woods later to fetch it.

In the meantime, though, Ainsley had a tray of pre-cooked hot dogs, which was good, and a growing sense of unease, which was decidedly not. It didn't matter that it had been a long time since they'd actually been in high school. They could still remember how awful teenagers could be, and it wasn't long before all their old anxieties kicked in.

Right now, though, they could ignore it for a while. Right now, they were sitting in a surprisingly well-furnished area behind the bleachers, with the rest of the troupe. All of them were working their way through the hot dogs- well, all of them except the Count, of course, who refused to eat them plain.

Their peace was interrupted when they overheard someone shouting through a megaphone. The voice sounded like it belonged to a particularly obnoxious young girl, the popular, privileged sort who was in every high school movie ever. Ainsley already disliked her.

The Count, however, did not feel the same way. The look on his face was near impossible to decipher. But it was similar to the one he'd given Ainsley when they'd first joined the troupe- like he'd found a new associate. Their suspicions were confirmed when he went over to the bleachers, peered through one of the gaps, and called out to the girl.

"Is that abominable little girl gone?" Mildred asked, once the Count returned to his seat.

"That _abominable little girl_ is going to help us infiltrate Prufrock Prep, so play nicely!" The twins, for once, ignored him.

"She reminds you of Ethel, doesn't she, Millie?" Maud asked her sister.

"I thought Ethel was one of your friends?" Ainsley asked, slightly confused. "Or, is this a different Ethel?"

"Technically, no."

"But she might as well be."

"When we were at school," Mildred elaborated, "Ethel was a very unpleasant girl- not unlike the one that we're teaming up with. It was only later on that she developed a degree of self-awareness and decency."

"I suppose we've all went to school with someone like that. And if you didn't, then you were either very lucky, or you were someone like that," Ainsley replied. They paused for a moment, thinking. "I was never that person- I was always too weird."

"We moved around too much," Fernald added.

"And we caused too much trouble."

"_You_ caused too much trouble, Mil. I just enabled you," Maud countered.

"I didn't really have any of those problems- though I did hit my growth spurt early, so that was kind of awkward." Phil contributed.

"I know what you mean," Ainsley replied. They held up a hand, and Phil gave them a high five in a rare display of tall person solidarity.

"What about you, boss?" Fernald asked. "Were you anything like our new accomplice?"

"You mean, was I ever an insipid, entitled little brat who needed everything and everyone to be the way I wanted? Did I threaten and intimidate anyone who tried to oppose me, and surround myself with underlings who I lorded my power and authority over, so they had to do what I said?" He shook his head. "No, I wasn't. Why would you think that?"

"Why indeed," Ainsley muttered, marvelling at how much self-awareness the Count lacked.

* * *

That night, the troupe ended up camping out behind the bleachers. The Count had left hours ago, and at one point he'd summoned the twins as well. Which meant that it was just Fernald, Ainsley and Phil left behind the bleachers. Ainsley had, somehow, managed to fall asleep, using their grey jacket as a blanket the best they could, and using their arm as a pillow.

Fernald sighed, and shrugged out of his own leather jacket, covering them with it as well, just in case it wasn't enough. He even lifted a few locks of Ainsley's dark hair off their face, carefully tucking it behind their ear.

"You really ought to be careful there," Phil said, frowning at him.

"I am- I've had these things for a long time, I know how to control them by now."

"That's not what I mean- and I think you know it." He shook his head, and Fernald went to sit next to him.

"Did Ainsley tell you they had a date a few days ago?" he asked, not quite changing the subject, but at least trying to.

"Yeah- they called me afterwards, wanting a ride home. They really didn't seem very cut up about it- but you know what they're like, it's so hard to tell for sure."

Fernald looked from Phil to Ainsley and back again. He had to bite back the brief surge of jealousy he felt at this latest revelation, knowing perfectly well that it was completely irrational. It wasn't like it meant anything- or that it would make any difference if it did. He was making a pretty big mountain out of a non-existent molehill.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, because it was easier than trying to talk about what he was really thinking, or feeling. Especially when he didn't actually fully understand any of it. Instead, he decided to let the matter drop, and try to get some sleep.

* * *

The next day, when Ainsley woke up, grumpy and aching all over, they were surprised to find that Fernald had given them his jacket at some point in the night. They wanted to thank him, though they didn't get a chance. At that moment, the Count came over to the troupe, accompanied by the twins, who were each carrying a pile of clothes.

"Right- we have our plan, and our cover stories, so let's not waste any time and get ready." He gestured for the twins to set their piles down, and looked around at the troupe. "You two, you'll be the new school mascot," he began, pointing at Fernald and Phil. "You ladies can be two unusually old cheerleaders, and you can be a teacher or something."

He pulled out items from the pile, and tossed them to Ainsley and the twins. Ainsley got a long white coat and a patterned scarf, and the twins got red and black cheerleader uniforms. The Count took the rest of the clothes and sauntered away, without any further instructions.

Ainsley quickly shrugged into the white coat, already wondering what kind of teacher they should claim to be. After a minute, they settled on "interdisciplinary gender studies." What did it matter? It wasn't like they'd actually have to teach any lessons, was it? Finally, they tied their hair up with the scarf, and turned to face the others.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce the latest member of staff at Prufrock Prep, Professor Dalloway!" They held out either side of their long coat, in a gesture that was half bow, half curtsy.

"Why Dalloway?" Phil asked. "I mean, I get that the Professor part could help avoid awkward questions, but where does the Dalloway part come from?"

"Well, since we're taking it up a notch and infiltrating a school, I thought a more clever-sounding alias would be appropriate. As my last name is Orlando, which is the same name as a book by Virginia Woolf, I thought a name from another one of her books, Mrs Dalloway, would be appropriate."

The others nodded, though Fernald held up a hook. "Careful there, Ainse. That level of literary reference is almost VFD worthy- though they probably wouldn't approve of why you were using it."

Ainsley blinked, unsure whether or not they'd heard him right. Had he just called them _Ainse_? It wasn't a bad nickname, in fact they quite liked the sound of it. But it had been completely unexpected. Did it mean anything, or were they just reading too much into things? Still, they couldn't help the brief flutter of hope they felt at this development, if you could call it that.

"Hey, Fernald," Phil said, interrupting the moment and snapping Ainsley back to reality. "Wanna toss a coin for who gets to be the horse's head?"

"Deal," he replied, and produced a coin, handing it to Phil. Just like that, the attention shifted away from Ainsley, and they were glad of it.

The pep rally felt like it had gone on for ages. Once it was finally over, Ainsley followed the rest of the teachers to the staffroom. It felt strange to leave the troupe like this, and it felt even stranger to sit down in sit down in one of the dark red chairs with the other teachers. Even thinking of the people in this room as their co-workers was weird on several different levels.

"Come on, everyone! We've still got another hour of classes left before the students have to go to dinner, and then we have another hour after that before my violin recital!" Vice Principal Nero announced. He noticed Ainsley, and pointed at them. "Donovan, I'd like a word before you go."

"Actually, my name's Professor Dalloway," they replied, and went to stand in front of him, awaiting orders, like they would if they were speaking to the Count.

"Anyway, Donnelly, I have a couple of things to tell you- a couple of school rules you should be aware of, then I'll let you get to your class."

"Don't you need to run any background checks, or at least see a lesson plan or something before you just let me start teaching?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Coach Genghis assured me you were qualified, and that's good enough for me. As for your lesson plan, you can do what you want, so long as it has something to do with... what was it again?"

"Interdisciplinary gender studies."

"Yes, that. Now, I don't really know what that means, and I'm far too busy and important to find out. So I'll let you get to work teaching that, and I'll get back to my work." He paused for a moment. "Oh, before I forget- if any of the children are late, you have to make a note of it, and they'll be required to eat their meals with their hands tied behind their back. And they can't miss my violin recitals, either, or they'll owe me a bag of candy."

With that, he swept out of the room, leaving Ainsley alone. The Vice Principal, they realised, was self-centred, dismissive, and had an ego the size of Mount Fraught. So really, "working" for him would be no different from working for the Count.

* * *

That night, the Count's Special Orphan Running Exercises began. Fernald, along with the rest of the troupe, had moved into actual accommodation in the school- a word which here means, Ainsley had a room on the same wing as the other teachers, and the rest of them all had to share a spare room the Count had found. It had two pairs of bunk beds, and that was all. The twins had claimed one, and Phil and Fernald the other.

None of them got to see much of their rooms, though, as they all had to sit through Vice Principal Nero's violin recital for most of the night. Still, Fernald was able to get away near the start, and give Olaf a takeaway cup of coffee. The brief respite didn't last long, though, and he soon had to return to the school auditorium.

The sounds of the vice principal's violin followed him all through the next day, and the next. By the end of the first week, Fernald was seriously wondering just how much this scheme was going to last. They'd never had one that had gone on for this long.

At lunchtime that day, he managed to catch up with Ainsley. He hadn't seen much of them since the day of the pep rally, outside of the nightly violin recitals. But they were usually asleep during those, and leaning against Phil, so it didn't really count

"Hey," he said, sitting down beside them. He'd slipped into the staffroom, where they were sitting on their own, examining a sheet of paper. Peering over their shoulder, he saw that it was a list of films- Gaslight, The Great Escape, Star Wars, Pride And Prejudice, and Carrie, among others. "What's all this?"

"Interdisciplinary gender studies," they replied. "It's become more of a film class, though I'm trying to keep it on topic."

"So, are you basically just showing them a bunch of old movies?"

"There's a bit of discussion afterwards, but yes, that's basically the class."

Fernald smiled. "I can imagine you'd be pretty popular, then- teachers never show movies, especially not ones like these."

"I don't know- I think they like my teaching methods more than they like me. It turns out having a gender neutral title doesn't actually prevent you from being asked awkward questions, and teenagers haven't gotten much kinder in the years since I stopped being one.

Fernald reached out and patted them awkwardly on the arm with one hook. He didn't really know what to say, or how else he could reassure them, make them feel better.

"Surely they can't all be bad," he managed, though he knew it sounded lame. Besides, even if one of them was a good kid, it wouldn't make up for a room full of obnoxious brats.

"I suppose one or two were alright- and it's gotten easier as the week has gone on. But even so, I definitely won't miss being Professor Dalloway when the time comes to let them go."

"That's a shame- I kinda like them." He turned to look at Ainsley, then, and they turned to look at him, too. "Although," he muttered, reaching out to gently tug the scarf from their hair. "There," he said, once it was out. "That's better."

For a moment, the two of them sat there, watching each other. Then, Ainsley leaned in, like they were trying to get a closer look at Fernald's face. He shifted too, making it easier for them, and before he knew it, their faces were closer than they'd ever been before. _Is this going where I think it's going? _Fernald wondered. _And, more to the point, why am I hoping that it is?_

Before he could find out one way or the other, though, the staffroom door swung open, and they sprung apart. One of the actual teachers came in, carrying a bundle of blueprints.

"Do you need any help there, Mrs Bass?" Ainsley asked. She shook her head.

"No, no, Professor, it's fine. This is just a project I've got my class working on- we've been studying the metric system, and I wanted to put their lessons to good use." She was giving them far more information than either of them had asked for, which made Fernald suspect that there was more to all of this than a simple school project.

"Alright, well, in that case I'll get going. Class starts in a few minutes, after all." And with that, Ainsley left the room.

* * *

_This is getting ridiculous,_ Ainsley thought, as they paced up and down their room. Once again, they replayed the conversation in the staffroom with Fernald, and in particular the moment right before Mrs Bass had come in, when it had seemed like they were going to kiss. They kept coming back to that moment, wishing they'd had a chance to see how it would've played out had the two of them not been interrupted.

They stopped pacing for a second, a crazy thought starting to take form in their head. Maybe it wasn't too late to try and do something about what had almost happened. At the very least, they could confess their feelings, and see what would happen after that.

By now, they'd all managed to retrieve their suitcases from the Count's car, and Ainsley decided to have a look through theirs in order to find a suitable outfit for the occasion. They didn't have much to work with- most of the stuff they'd brought was meant to be practical, after all, even the Nurse Lucafont disguise. Still, they managed to find a few nice things- a long, light blue skirt, a dark red jumper, and a pair of purple boots. They even put on a little bit of make-up, and one of their necklaces.

Ainsley had not been lying, or putting on a brave face, when they'd said that they weren't bothered by how the date that wasn't had turned out. Their indifference had, for once, been genuine. Even though they had, technically, been stood up- assuming, of course, that they'd read the situation correctly and it hadn't just been a platonic invitation. In fact, they'd kind of been hoping that it wasn't actually a date, and it was actually a relief that nothing had come of it.

This time was different, though. This time, they were much more hopeful that something would come of what they were planning to do. They were risking far more, and they knew it.

Taking one last look in the mirror, Ainsley left their room, and walked along to the one that the rest of the troupe had been given. They knocked on the door.

"Who's in here?" They were hoping that Fernald would be there- and that the others wouldn't mind leaving the room while they talked. It came as a disappointment, therefore, when Phil called out:

"It's just me and the twins." Ainsley sighed, and pushed open the door. The room they found themselves in didn't really seem big enough for four people, especially not with a pile of suitcases in the corner, their contents starting to spill out onto the floor. The twins were sitting on one of the bottom bunks, each reading identical copies of the same book, and Phil sat on the other.

"Hey, Professor," he said, which made Ainsley smile. Then, he looked at them properly, and did an exaggerated double take. "What's all this about?"

"Something that's either going to be a very, very good idea, or a very, very bad one," Ainsley replied.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with our absent co-worker, would it?" Mildred asked. All Ainsley could do was nod.

"It took you long enough!" Phil said, holding up a hand. Ainsley smiled, and gave him a high five. "I think Fernald is out on the sports field. I'm not sure if he's still out there, but that's probably the best place to start." They turned to leave. "Wait," he said. When Ainsley turned around, he handed them a small walkie talkie. "Just in case," he said, by way of explanation.

"Take this, too," Mildred said, tossing over a small gold tube. "It always brought us luck, when we used it back in the day." They removed the lid, and found that it contained dark red lipstick. They smiled, and popped the lid back on.

"Thanks, guys." They opened the door, and stepped out into the corridor. "I'll see you tomorrow," they said, and shut the door.

When Ainsley reached the gates of the sports field, they started to think they might have made a mistake. Olaf was there, and the Baudelaires were still running laps as part of their Special Orphan Running Exercises. Still, they wanted to try and catch Fernald's attention- though they didn't want to walk over to him, not with the Count sitting right there. It wouldn't be safe for him to catch wind of what was going on.

The Count being there presented another major problem, however. He was saying something- maybe he was actually talking to Fernald, maybe he was just delivering a soliloquy to an audience of one. Either way, his one-man audience was completely absorbed by whatever he was saying.

There would be no way that Ainsley could break the spell, and the longer they watched, the more they wondered why they'd bothered coming out here. What had they thought was going to happen? Had they really thought that the obvious crush Fernald had on the Count was going to just disappear because the two of them had had a couple of moments over the last couple of weeks? Feeling incredibly, painfully stupid, they reached for the walkie talkie.

"Phil, are you there?" they asked, once they'd switched it on.

"Yeah, I'm here. How's it going?"

"Not great- I don't think I picked a good time to do this. I'm gonna head back to my room, I think."

"Wait there- I'll walk back with you." Ainsley was about to say that wasn't necessary, but there was a click, and the line went dead.

* * *

The Count had been talking for a while now, and so far Fernald had been listening attentively. Though, admittedly, the subject of this particular soliloquy- a long, drawn-out tale about the first Al Funcoot play he'd ever starred in, and the short review it had gotten in the Daily Punctillio- was far from interesting.

His attention was caught by a movement at the entrance of the sports field. Ainsley was standing there, looking from him to the Count and then looking away. For a second, he almost didn't recognise them- they were, for once, wearing clothes that were actually kind of nice, and went together better than they usually did. Though he couldn't really see them properly, from here they looked almost pretty.

He stood up, and was about to walk over to them and see what was going on, when Phil came over. Of course, he thought bitterly. And, of course, Ainsley was now looking up at him, and Fernald was pretty sure they were smiling. The two of them left, then, walking back to the school. Fernald sighed, and went to sit down next to the Count again.

"You know, Hooky," he said, as if nothing had happened. "I think I've had enough of this gym teacher business. It's time for the next step in our plan." Whatever that next step was, though, he clearly wasn't interested in elaborating on it.

The next morning, Fernald headed straight to Ainsley's room. He wanted to talk about what had happened last night, what he'd seen. Fortunately, the doors to the teachers' rooms all had labels on the door, so he didn't have to knock on every door and hope for the best. The label on Ainsley's door had been written on a piece of paper and stuck on with tape, but the name was clear enough- Professor A. Dalloway.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked, knocking on the door. It wasn't long before he got a response. Ainsley opened the door, and straight away Fernald noticed how tired they looked. "Can I come in?" he asked. They didn't reply, but they did step aside, allowing him to enter the room.

"What's up?" they asked, taking a seat in the old, high-backed chair next to their desk.

"I wanted to talk about last night." He paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to word this. Finally, he decided to just cut to the point. "I saw you outside the sports field."

"You did?" they asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Yeah- I was going to go talk to you, but you seemed pretty busy with Phil." He hadn't meant that to sound quite so accusatory, hadn't meant to sound so jealous.

"What are you implying?" Ainsley asked, folding their arms. They'd straightened up, so that they were standing at their full height, but this time Fernald wasn't going to be intimidated by that.

"I'm not implying anything- I just want to know if there's something gong on between you two." They blinked at him.

"Wait- are you seriously jealous of _Phil?_" They sounded genuinely bewildered. Fernald opened his mouth to deny it, but realised that he couldn't, not without lying. Whether he cared to admit it or not, he had been feeling a bit more jealous of how close Ainsley and Phil had been lately. If he was being completely honest, this had been building slowly since the journey back from Lake Lachrymose, when he'd found out that it had been Phil who'd been going to take Ainsley to their audition.

"No," he said , though he was pretty sure that they knew he was lying. "Of course I'm not." Ainsley shook their head.

"Look, not that it's any of your business, but there is nothing going on between Phil and I, nor will there ever be. Why do you care so much, anyway?" He didn't have an answer to that. Ainsley sighed, shrugged on their coat and tied up their hair. "Whatever. I have to go- I have a class to teach." With that, they swept out of the room.

He didn't get a chance to talk to Ainsley for the rest of the day. The Count was determined that this would be the troupe's second last day in Prufrock, and to that end he'd concocted a plan. Tomorrow, the Baudelaires would face tests on what they'd learned so far at school. If they failed, which they probably would since they wouldn't have any time to study, then the Count would take them away for "home schooling."

There was something else, though, another opportunity the Count was hoping to take advantage of. It was something he'd only told Fernald, or at least that was what he'd claimed. In this school, there were two more unfortunate, fortune-carrying orphans. And if they could somehow grab them while they were here, they could potentially get double the money.

An opportunity presented itself that night. After it turned out that the Baudelaires had found a way to be in two places at once- and after Fernald realised he'd actually been worried about the wellbeing of a bag of flour, and not Sunny. The other orphans, the Quagmires, had swapped places with the older Baudelaires. Not only that, they'd managed to run off, leaving Fernald to try and look for them.

He found them in the library, pouring over a giant book. They were so absorbed that they didn't notice him at first, so he knocked over a shelf, which not only got their attention but would hopefully block their path out of the library.

"We might as well get this over with, orphans! Neither of you have anywhere to go!" They seemed determined to prove otherwise, though, as one ran off in one direction, and one ran in the other. It was no use- Fernald was still able to catch both of them before they could make it to the door.

After that, the next step was to find somewhere to store them until the next day, when they'd all leave the school. The trunk of the Count's car ought to do the trick. He dragged them over to the dark gray car, which was now parked outside the school. He opened the trunk with one hook, and demanded that the orphans get inside.

"No," said the girl, and turned to run back to the school. Fernald caught her by the sleeve, though this time he had no intention of apologising for the torn fabric.

"Don't even think about running away, either of you. Now, I'm going to give you two brats one more warning, then I'm going to make you get into the trunk. Are we clear?" They nodded, their fear clear in their eyes. He didn't want to see that fear- it made him feel far worse than it ought to. It forced him to remember that they were children, maybe a year or two younger than Fiona must be now.

To make matters worse, Ainsley's words in the kitchen of The Anxious Clown chose that moment to wander into his head. "_I don't see why we can't do something- even if it's just something small._" Shaking his head, he closed the trunk, and opened the door to the back of the car.

"Get in, before I change my mind." They climbed in, and he locked the doors behind them. Then he turned away, and walked back into the school, cursing all of them- the Quagmires, and Ainsley, and even Fiona, because even here, even after all this time, she was still able to get to him.

* * *

The next morning, the troupe had to wait outside for the Count while the Baudelaires had their tests. Well, not the whole troupe- the twins were with the Count, meaning that it was only Ainsley, Fernald and Phil who were left outside to guard the Quagmires. Ainsley had wondered if they might be asked to take part in the tests, since they were supposed to be a teacher and everything. But, since they hadn't actually had the Baudelaires in their class, the Count had deemed it unnecessary.

"What could you have to test them on, anyway?" he'd pointed out. "Or have you forgotten that you're not actually a teacher?"

The car was unusually quiet, the only sound coming from the radio. Ainsley and Phil were sitting in the front seat, and the new orphans were in the back. They must've been too scared to speak, or too tired. As far as Ainsley had been able to gather, they'd been here since last night. Fernald was standing outside the car, waiting for the Count. He always seemed to be waiting for the Count- it was just a shame that the Count didn't care.

"You should go out and talk to him," Phil suggested. He'd been suggesting it for the last ten minutes or so, on and off.

"I don't know," Ainsley replied. They hadn't really spoken to Fernald since yesterday morning, when he'd all but accused them of having some kind of affair with Phil. The ridiculousness of the accusation was unbelievable- if he would just be a little more observant, he would see what was really going on. "But, I suppose I should at least try." They reached over to the driver's side door, and were about to open it, when another door opened in the back of the car.

"The boss is on his way- somehow I don't think the tests went the way they were supposed to." As if on cue, the twins climbed into the back too, followed shortly by the Count. He didn't waste any time before driving away, leaving Prufrock Prep far behind them.

The Quagmires, at this point, found their voices, and started shouting. They weren't shouting for help, though, as Ainsley would've expected. Instead, they were shouting three letters, over and over. VFD.

It was no use, though. The car left the school grounds, and the orphans had to give up.

"Where are we heading now, boss?" Phil asked.

"Back to the city," the Count replied. "Apparently, orphans are in fashion now- and I have an old friend who loves anything that's in." He refused to elaborate any further, and instead drove faster, away from Prufrock Prep and any chance Ainsley might have once had to leave him and his schemes behind.


	6. The Awful Auction

The troupe were about an hour away from the city when they pulled into a gas station. Olaf hopped out, and returned a few minutes later carrying six burgers. He'd changed out of his Coach Genghis outfit, and after stashing it haphazardly in the trunk, he dished out the burgers.

"Before we go any further, would someone please put the Quagmires into the trunk?" he asked. "I don't know what they were doing in the back seat to begin with, but it ends now."

Phil opened the door and climbed out, leaving Ainsley alone in the front seat with Olaf. They shifted to the now empty seat, and looked down at their hands, which were twisting their scarf. They didn't want to look at the Count, didn't want to say anything in case it was the wrong thing.

"You're awfully quiet," he observed, though even Ainsley could tell that was all it was- an observation. Their silence didn't actually concern him, as it would literally any other member of the troupe. The Quagmires were being weirdly quiet too- maybe they were too tired to put up a fight now. Ainsley couldn't blame them.

The door next to Ainsley opened up, and they moved back to their seat, ready to allow Phil to climb back in.

"Hey." They looked up, and saw that it was Fernald standing there, not Phil. "Do you want to swap seats?" Ainsley nodded, grateful, and climbed out of the car. They wondered if Fernald had asked to swap on purpose- to help Ainsley or be close to Olaf, they didn't know. Did it matter, either way? No, they decided. What mattered was that there was now some distance between Ainsley and the Count, and they wouldn't have to be alone with him anymore.

* * *

When they reached the outskirts of the city, the troupe realised that they had another problem- there were police cars everywhere, and every available tree and lamppost had a wanted poster with the Count's face on it.

"A city-wide manhunt... I should've expected something like this." Olaf sighed, and parked the car in the nearest side street. He passed Fernald the keys. "We don't have time for proper disguises, so we'll have to improvise."

Fernald passed the car keys to Phil and shrugged out of his leather jacket. He stashed it in the footwell, and was about to go round to the trunk and grab the trenchcoat he'd worn at Dr Montgomery's house, when Ainsley spoke to him.

"Do you want to borrow this?" they asked, holding out their white coat. He took it, and put it on. It was a little big, and hung just past his knees. But, he decided it didn't matter.

"Thanks." He paused, and tried to unscrew his hooks while keeping them buried in his coat pockets. "Hey, I'm sorry about-"

"Come on, everyone, let's go- the sooner we get to 667 Dark Avenue, the better!" Olaf shouted, cutting him off. He climbed into the back of the car, and lay down in the footwell. The twins got into their seats, and tucked their feet up so they wouldn't accidentally kick him. They'd both applied a lot of rosy pink powder to their cheeks, which somehow looked more unnerving than their usual pale white faces.

Finally, Fernald, Ainsley and Phil climbed into the three front seats. He noticed that, while Phil had at least made a bit of effort and put on a hat, Ainsley had, in giving away their coat and tying their scarf around their wrist, effectively ditched their Professor Dalloway disguise. They didn't have anything to replace it, either.

"Shouldn't you... you know, put some kind of disguise on or something?" Ainsley nodded, produced a pair of dark blue sunglasses from the glove compartment, and put them on.

"How's that?" they asked, turning to face him. The glasses looked pretty ridiculous, but they would do the trick for now.

"Yeah, yeah, that looks fine." They studied each other for a second longer. Then, Phil muttered something that sounded a lot like _Get a room,_ turned on the ignition and drove away.

* * *

They parked about a block away from 667 Dark Avenue. The name was certainly fitting- between the late hour and the fact that several tall trees lined the streets, creating their own canopy of leaves, it was near impossible to see anything. Ainsley pushed their sunglasses up into their hair- clearly they wouldn't be needed.

The total darkness meant, therefore, that it was fairly easy to get into the tunnels undetected, and bring the Quagmires with them. Well, it was easy in the practical sense- not so much from a moral standpoint.

"Look on the bright side," Phil said, once the Count was out of earshot. "At least it's not our kids." Fernald whipped round to face him.

"What was that?" Phil shrugged, and gestured to the Quagmires, who were being dragged along by Maud and Mildred.

"I mean they're not our orphans, the Baudelaires."

"The Baudelaires aren't our orphans- and they're certainly not our kids." He sighed. "Look, we really shouldn't be talking about this here, not when the boss is right there."

Ainsley decided it was best not to point out that the Count was completely absorbed in studying his map of the underground tunnel system, or how fundamentally wrong it was that they all had to monitor their language if there was ever any chance that Olaf could hear them.

Finally, they reached a tunnel with what appeared to be a cage at one end. Beyond the cage, there was nothing, just a wall with a lot of strange wires and cables attached. Ainsley peered up into the darkness, the mystery of where exactly they were enough to distract them from what they were doing to the Quagmires.

"Are we in an elevator shaft?" they asked finally.

"Of course we are, you idiot. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be smart." Olaf shook his head, and walked back down the tunnel.

They went back the way they'd come, and emerged from the tunnels next to the car again. It had somehow managed to get even darker, Ainsley noted, as they helped pull the suitcases out of the car. They walked with the rest of the troupe, along the streets and into a tall apartment building.

The elevator was out, apparently, so the troupe had to take the stairs. There were a lot of stairs. It wasn't long before Ainsley's feet started to hurt, and they were regretting every decision that had led them to this point. They found themselves walking beside Fernald, and at first they were both silent. Ainsley wanted to talk to him, they really did. But they'd barely spoken since leaving Prufrock, and the silence was getting harder to breach.

"Hey," Fernald said. "How are you holding up so far?" Ainsley shrugged.

"I mean, on the one hand this is all probably indicative of a larger problem with the way the extremely wealthy isolate themselves from the rest of society, and expect everyone else to be fine with that." They paused. "But mostly I'm just glad I dressed sensibly this morning. I can't imagine trying to climb all these stairs in that stupid outfit I was wearing the other night, having to think about the skirt and everything."

"I didn't think you looked stupid," Fernald said, and Ainsley turned to look at him. His smile was as clear to see as it was difficult to interpret, and not for the first time they wished for the power of telepathy. It would make this sort of thing so much easier. "What were you doing out there, anyway? Were you meeting someone?"

"You mean, was I meeting Phil?" Fernald didn't say anything. "No, I wasn't. It doesn't matter, though- it was a stupid, badly timed thing to do, and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about it anymore." They started walking back up the stairs.

"Wait." They turned around, looking down at Fernald expectantly. "There's something you're not telling me, something you've not been telling me for a while. What is it? What's going on with you?"

It would be easy, Ainsley supposed, to come out and tell him the truth right now. The opportunity had practically been gift-wrapped for them. They could have it out in the open in a minute. The only thing that held them back, though, was the fear of what would happen next, once Fernald knew everything. The fear of rejection had been solidified by what they'd seen the other night at the sports field, and it kept them from telling the truth now.

"In case you didn't notice, Fernald, we just helped to smuggle two orphans into a cage at the bottom of an elevator shaft. They had nothing to do with our schemes regarding the Baudelaires, apart from having similar tragic backstories, and having the misfortune to cross our path. And that's just the latest in a long line of increasingly terrible things we've done. And, on top of that, every time I've made any attempt to find some kind of happiness or have some kind of life outside of this troupe over the last couple of weeks, it's always fallen flat. So, you know, if I seem a bit off, that's probably why." On that note, they turned around, and continued walking up the stairs.

* * *

It was a relief when the troupe reached the top floor of 667 Dark Avenue. Olaf didn't waste any time, walked right over to the penthouse door and knocked three times.

"Who on Earth could that be at this hour?" asked a voice on the other side. Fernald turned to the others.

"Okay, I say we give her three strikes, then we make up our minds. Sound fair?" They all nodded. Just then, the doors swung open, to reveal a petite blonde woman in a violet, pinstriped dressing gown.

"Oh, _there _you are!" she exclaimed, her focus entirely on Olaf. "Darling, whatever took you so long?"

"The elevator was out. You should really get someone to take a look at that."

"Darling, don't be ridiculous. Elevators are out, and stairs are in. If people found out I have a working elevator in this building, much less one I actually _use_..." She shuddered, like it was the most horrifying thing she could imagine. Finally, Olaf noticed the troupe.

"Esmé, darling, this is my theatre troupe." They each introduced themselves by name, ignoring the distinctly judgemental look Esmé was giving them.

"What on Earth are you wearing?" she asked Ainsley, finally.

"What?" They looked down at their orange shirt- the same one, Fernald noted, that they'd worn the day the troupe had met the Baudelaires- and dark grey trousers. "They're just clothes."

"What they are is a positive train wreck! Don't you have any regard for what's in?" It was the wrong thing to say.

"No- I really don't see the point of subscribing to an ever-changing and often restrictive set of arbitrary fashion standards. Why would anyone want that kind of pressure in their life?" This was also the wrong thing to say.

"Well, you're a cheerful one, aren't you?" She rolled her eyes, and turned to the others. Fernald, meanwhile, caught Ainsley's eye, then Phil's, then Mildred's, and lastly Maud's. They were all in agreement- this was strike one.

"I think we should all go to bed, don't you agree?" Olaf suggested, and Esmé led the way down one of the corridors.

"Alright- we'll need to be discrete, though. My husband doesn't know any of you are here, and I don't want him to find out." The twins blinked at her. They looked from Esmé to Olaf and back again.

"You have a _husband?_" they said together. They didn't say any more- they didn't need to. Those four words were more than enough to convey their scandalized shock. Esmé smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Yes, dears, I do. I know this might be a bit hard to get your heads around, but things have moved on since your day. To a woman with as much wealth and influence as I do, marriage isn't the boring, limiting thing that it may have been when you two were young. Which means that I can do what I want, with who I want, and the fact that I have a husband is completely irrelevant." Then she gave them each one more patronising smile, and patted both of them on the arm.

This, Fernald thought, was strike two- at least as far as he was concerned. He was pretty sure the others would agree- even the twins themselves, who would usually insist that they were made of stronger stuff, and could handle a bit of condescension now and again.

He almost thought that strike three wasn't going to come, and, until they reached the four rooms the troupe had been given, it didn't. Until now, Fernald had managed to keep his hooks stuffed into the pockets of his borrowed coat. It wasn't until he went to open the door to his room, therefore, that Esmé got a look at them.

"Are those _real?_" she asked, and made a move to touch one. Fernald snatched the relevant hook out of her reach, and she sighed. "Very well, be like that. Honestly, I don't know why it's such a big deal." She shook her head. "Why do you even have hooks, anyway? Weren't there any other options?"

"That's none of your business." Seriously, in what world were these appropriate questions to ask? He was aware of the others exchanging looks, and knew that they were once again in agreement. This was strike three, and Esmé Squalor was out.

Although, as Fernald took one last look at the troupe before he closed the door, he couldn't help but notice that Phil looked unsure. Maybe they weren't all in agreement about Esmé after all.

* * *

The next morning, while Ainsley didn't _necessarily_ pick their outfit with the intent of annoying Esmé, her reaction when she saw their light brown blouse, sky blue skirt and emerald green sunglasses, which they were wearing like a headband, was definitely worth the effort.

"Are you completely incapable of assembling an outfit that's not utterly hideous?" She shook her head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm going to need all of you to leave in about an hour. Olaf will have more details. I, meanwhile, have to make sure those pinstripe suits arrived- our new guests are going to need all the help they can get looking in." She strode off, high heels clicking on the marble floor.

"She's..." Phil trailed off.

"An insufferable diva?" Fernald offered.

"A shining example of what's wrong with society's elite?" Ainsley suggested.

"A patronising harlot?" the twins contributed.

"Beautiful!" Phil concluded, which, needless to say, wasn't the answer any of them had been expecting.

"Well, isn't that just typical!" Mildred said, shaking her head in disapproval. Before anyone could respond, though, Olaf came into the room. He had put on yet another disguise, which somehow looked more ridiculous than the last- something Ainsley had thought was impossible. This time, he was wearing a dark grey suit, knee high boots and what Ainsley strongly suspected was a wig.

"So," he said, by way of greeting. "The Baudelaires will be here in about an hour, and obviously you can't be here when they arrive. So, you'll be taking the tunnels to Herring Houdini, which is a block from here. I'll get the Baudelaires and the Squalors there, we'll drug Mr Squalor, and get the Baudelaires out of here."

"What about the Quagmires?" Ainsley asked.

"Weren't you listening last night? We're smuggling them out during the In Auction tomorrow." He paused, considering something. "You know, since you couldn't be bothered paying attention, you can be the one to bid on them."

"Got it," they replied, because it was easier than arguing, or even questioning Olaf's orders. They still remembered what had happened the last time they'd done that.

* * *

Herring Houdini, it turned out, was not exactly a five star restaurant. It reminded Fernald of a less colourful version of The Anxious Clown- though the menu was far less appetizing. Still, at least they wouldn't have to actually eat any of it.

"It's a shame we have to drug Mr Squalor- he doesn't have anything to do with this," Ainsley said. They'd changed out of their outfit from earlier, which was a shame, because it had looked nice- as well as having the added bonus of pissing off Esmé.

"Now, what kind of attitude is that?" he teased. "Come on, Ainse, what's the point of being a morally ambiguous henchperson if you can't drug people every now and again?" He'd done it again, let that nickname slip out. He wanted to say that it didn't mean anything, that it was just a nickname. But he knew better- it meant something, to both of them. It marked a shift that had taken place that day at the café- a change that he still didn't fully understand.

"I'm just saying- it seems a shame to drug someone who's done nothing to us." They paused. "Now, if we were to drug _Esmé_, on the other hand..." Fernald smiled, and pointed a hook in their direction.

"There you go, that's more like it." Phil frowned at them.

"You know, I'm sure she's not as bad as you guys are making her sound. I'm sure that once we get to know her-"

"We'll see that she's a lovely woman who regularly insults people's outfits, talks disrespectfully towards old people, and asks disabled people extremely inappropriate and personal questions?" Fernald sighed. "Come on, Phil- surely you can see why all that would make a really bad first impression."

"You're starting to sound like Ainsley," he said. "Look, maybe you guys are right, and maybe it was just a bad first impression. Let's just see how things play out." They all nodded, and got to work getting everything ready for the Squalors and the Baudelaires.

* * *

Ainsley would've put money on Esmé finding some kind of fault with the restaurant. They would've put actual, physical money on it. Even so, when she declared Herring Houdini garbage for serving vodka martinis, they were almost taken aback by how ridiculous her complaint was. Seriously- it was just a _drink_. And weren't martinis supposed to be in? Honestly, all this was so arbitrary and stupid.

As if the universe was determined to prove them right, a couple of hours later customers started to file into the restaurant, all wanting food at the newest "in" restaurant.

"Well, this is just great," they muttered, to no-one in particular. The twins were working in the kitchen, Phil was outside dealing with the queue, and Fernald had decided to declare himself restaurant manager or something, and was dealing with all the bookings. There were a lot of bookings- which, considering how fast trends moved around here, seemed a bit stupid. Then again, so much of what was going on sounded pretty stupid.

Finally, things calmed down, and everyone that could be seated was. Among their diners, Ainsley recognised the Count, Esmé and a man that they assumed was her husband, the Baudelaires' useless banker, and someone who may have been the waiter from The Anxious Clown. It was hard to tell for sure. What they could tell for sure, though, was that none of their diners was a teenage girl with long dark hair, a boy with glasses or a surprisingly capable toddler. The Baudelaires had gone- and Olaf knew it. He was trying to leave- but neither the waiter, or the young woman standing beside him, or the whole clientele of Herring Houdini, apparently- were prepared to let that happen. At least, not without him giving them something in return.

Now, Ainsley had learned long ago that being part of Count Olaf's troupe meant you always had to be ready for two things. You had to be ready to have your morals compromised, and you had to be ready to jump into a full-on musical number at any given moment. Olaf quickly pulled a few sheets of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket- because, evidently, he could remember to bring those everywhere he went, but he couldn't remember to brush his teeth in the morning- and shoved them at Fernald.

"Let's just give them what they want and get this over with," he hissed, and the troupe got into position so they could do exactly that.

* * *

Later, after the last of the customers had left the restaurant, Fernald had been about to start cleaning the place up when the phone rang.

"Welcome to Herring Houdini, the home of pickled fish-" he began.

"Get up to the penthouse, now. Bring Baldy and the other one, and the biggest net you can get. Tell the other two to go to the tunnels- I think the time has come to move the Quagmires." He disconnected the call, and Fernald set the receiver down. Well- that was that, then. There would be no arguing there.

"That was the boss," he said after a moment. He decided that it was best not to tell them what Olaf had called them. At this point, it seemed unlikely that he actually remembered any of their names, and there was no use reminding him now. It would just go in one ear and out the other. For the first time, he allowed himself to really acknowledge just how fundamentally wrong that was.

"What does he want now?" Ainsley asked, their head resting on the table. They looked exhausted, and Fernald couldn't help feeling bad for them.

"He wants the three of us to go up to the penthouse, with a net. I didn't think it was a good idea to ask questions." He was met with a muffled groan from Ainsley, and a questioning look from Mildred and Maud.

"What about us?" Mildred asked.

"You two need to get to the tunnels- I think you're supposed to take the Quagmires somewhere. My guess would be Veblin Hall, for the auction tomorrow." Another muffled groan.

"Don't remind me about that stupid auction," Ainsley muttered. "I'm anxious about it enough as it is." They finally looked up from the table. "Something's bound to go wrong. I mean, I'm terrible at math at the best of times, there's no way this will end well."

"There's also the possibility that we'll get caught," Phil pointed out, which really didn't help the situation. "I don't wanna be too pessimistic, but seeing how every other scheme has been foiled, I'd genuinely be surprised if we get away with this one."

It was true, but he shouldn't say it. Yes, it was true that after five schemes, the only thing they'd actually done successfully was kidnap the Quagmires- and that hadn't even been part of the plan until a few days ago. But he didn't need to _say_ it, not so bluntly at any rate. It was something they all knew.

* * *

Ainsley's mood did not improve at all as they trudged up the stairs to the penthouse. And it definitely did not improve when, upon reaching the penthouse, Fernald was given a dark green coat and hat, and Ainsley and Phil were told to put the net about halfway down the elevator shaft.

"How do we do this in a way that won't actually put us in danger?" Ainsley asked. Phil examined the net, then peered down into the shaft.

"It needs to be attached at the four corners, obviously. It's just a question of whether we should do it by hand, or if we could get away with doing it another way." Neither of them were able to think of another way, though.

Phil offered to actually put the net into the shaft, after he'd been tied securely to one of the pillars in the hall. All Ainsley had to do was pass him equipment and make sure that the rope around the pillar was secure.

He was about halfway done, having secured two corners of the net so far, when Ainsley noticed Fernald was watching them.

"What?" they asked, frowning at him. "Is there something on my face, or..."

"No, you're fine." They started to turn away, but changed their mind when he continued. "You know, I wouldn't worry about tomorrow too much. You'll only be bidding on one thing, and you just need to give a number that sounds reasonably high and keep increasing it as you need to. It'll be over before you know it."

Ainsley smiled, and was about to reply when Esmé came up the stairs. She was dragging a probably concussed Mr Squalor by the feet and somehow appeared unfazed by that fact. Briefly setting one of his legs down, she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Ainsley.

"Would you mind helping me carry him inside?" She could've at least had the decency to sound out of breath, they thought as they moved to put their hands under Mr Squalor's arms and lift him up. Once they'd both brought him into the apartment and set him down on the couch, Esmé turned to face Ainsley. "Actually, while we're here, I'd like a little word with you."

"What about?" they asked, already a little nervous.

"It's about the auction tomorrow. Now, Olaf has told me that you're supposed to be bidding on the in item we've put the Quagmires in." She smiled, like she'd just made a particularly clever joke, before turning serious. "This auction is a very important event, and only the most important and fashionable people are able to attend. And over the last couple of days, you have shown that you have no sense of style or regard for what's fashionable. Until now, that's not been so bad. But the time has come when it will not be acceptable. In order to get through tomorrow, I'm going to need to stage an invention."

"Stage a what?" Ainsley asked, perplexed.

"Oh you know- it's what you call it when someone you know is refusing to see that they're making a mistake, so you step in to try and stop them."

"That's... That's an intervention. You're talking about an intervention, not an invention."

"Same difference. Anyway, I'll be in charge of your outfit tomorrow, to make sure you don't look like a train wreck three days running, _and _risk bringing down the stylish reputation of the auction." There was no use arguing with her, even if they wanted to. Seeming to sense that she'd won this round, she patted them on the arm, ignoring the fact that they tensed at the unexpected and unwanted contact. "You're an actor, aren't you? Think of it as a costume, then- one you'd do well not to change." Then she draped her black cloak over her sleeping husband, and walked away.

* * *

The morning of the In Auction dawned bright and sunny. Which reminded Fernald- Olaf still didn't know that Sunny had managed to find a way in and out of the elevator shaft yesterday, and he had decided not to tell him. He'd have probably had to if she hadn't gone back down, but as it was, it didn't seem like something worth mentioning. He wondered what she would've done if it had been one of the others outside the apartment, if she'd have managed to get past them too- or if it was just a case of him having a soft spot for seemingly fearless kids that reminded him of his own little sister, that made him easy to get around.

It wasn't important now, though- what was important was getting over to Veblin Hall in time for the auction. Phil and the twins were already there, sitting in a room backstage. They were already dressed for the auction, and he was able to guess that Phil had been chosen as the security, and the twins were... he wasn't actually sure how they were going to fit into the picture. Ainsley was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Ainsley?" he asked.

"Mrs Squalor is giving them some kind of makeover," Maud explained. Both she and her sister were in the middle of painting each other's nails, a dark colour to match their dresses. They'd just finished when a door at the other end of the room opened, and Ainsley walked in. In their dark, pinstriped suit and matching hat, they looked decidedly disgruntled, though not as bad as Fernald had feared. Quite the opposite in fact, he thought as he stared for far longer than was strictly necessary.

"Wow, Ainsley, you look..." he trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Ainsley frowned, unimpressed.

"What? Whatever it is you're trying to say, could you please actually say it for once? I'm really not in the mood to play this game today."

"What are you talking about?" Fernald asked, confused. "What game?"

"The one where we flirt with the idea of flirting, until I think there's something more going on- only to realise I've got everything wrong, because you still hang off Olaf's every word, pining after something that's never going to happen. The one where I don't know which way is up, because I can never tell how you feel, and I'm not always sure I want to find out, because I'm afraid of what the answer will end up being." Fernald was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

"Look, I'm not actually sure what the answer is either." He also wasn't quite sure what the question was, though in light of what they'd said, he definitely had a few theories.

"Fine. If you figure it out any time soon, you know where to find me. In the meantime, I'm going to add one final touch to my outfit- hopefully it's one our ladyship will approve of." With that, they walked over to the table where the twins were sitting, and borrowed two of their bottles of nail polish- a dark forest green, and a bright, bubble-gum pink, and started painting their nails with the first one.

"Did I hear that right?" Phil asked, appearing next to Fernald with far more stealth and quietness than he would ever have expected. "Did Ainsley say what I thought they said?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked. When Phil replied, his words were more affirming than life-altering. Still, Fernald knew that they would change everything.

"Look, I wasn't going to say anything, because it's not my business. But this has gone on long enough, and it's getting ridiculous." He paused for a moment, then continued. "You know Ainsley has a massive crush on you, right?"

Fernald blinked, not really sure what to say. This certainly would explain a lot, and he felt a bit silly for not putting two and two together sooner. Then again, he hadn't really been paying attention until recently, which was probably why it had taken him so long to realise what had been going on.

He would've put money on Esmé choosing this moment to come into the room, but it didn't make it any less annoying when she did. She looked at the five of them, smiling warmly.

"Look at you! You all _finally_ look like people I can be seen in public with!" As far as compliments went, it was pretty weak. She smiled at each of them in turn, though her smile faltered when she saw Ainsley. They were blowing their nails dry- both the hand they'd used the dark green on, and the other, bright pink set. Esmé looked like she was about to scream, or throw something, or both. "What on Earth have you done to your nails?" she demanded.

"Painted them," Ainsley said, simply.

"Yes, I can see that, but did you have to use such ghastly colours? Not only are those the least in shades of green and pink, they look objectively awful when you put them together like that." When Ainsley didn't say anything, she sighed, produced a pair of white gloves from her bag and tossed them over. "At least have the decency to cover them up." Ainsley tugged on the gloves, and then it was time to go.

* * *

In the end, there was something strangely comforting in the fact that the auction was busted. Ainsley wasn't sure if it technically counted as a failure, since the Quagmires weren't rescued and the troupe got away from the hall. But after everything that had happened the last few days, it was almost nice to go through all the usual motions that had made up the final moments of all their other schemes. The moment when Violet or Klaus told everyone that "Gunther" was Count Olaf, the moment when some part of his disguise slipped and they were able to prove it, the shock and horror from the crowds, and the mad escape from the hall... It had become just as much a part of the henchperson gig as the moral dilemmas and musical numbers.

There was also something weirdly satisfying in the knowledge that, while their outfit was now a mess thanks to the scuffle with the... volunteer? Librarian? Nameless, dark-haired woman in leather? Their nail polish had remained intact. They wondered how Esmé would react, knowing that her efforts to make Ainsley fashionable and in had been ruined, but Ainsley's own efforts to annoy her had not.

As the troupe drove away from the city and off to God only knew where, Ainsley looked out of the window, studying the streets. They wondered when they'd next come back here, how long it would be before they were able to return. There was something exhausting about the realisation, and they had to fight the urge to throw open their door, jump out of the moving car and run home- even though they didn't actually know which way to go from here, and they still looked like someone who'd been in some kind of fight.

Then Mildred, despite Fernald's best efforts to stop her, managed to lean forward and slide a tape into the car's tape deck. And though Ainsley had hoped that the tape wasn't the one they thought it was, when they heard the by now familiar opening of What's New Pussycat, they were almost glad about it. By the time the song concluded, and began again, they'd almost forgotten their exhaustion. Sometimes, they thought, being a part of this troupe wasn't so bad. It was just a shame that it couldn't always be like this.


	7. The Mistaken Murderers- Part One

**A.N- Hey, guys! So, two things: First, I would like to apologise for how long this update took. I had a lot of writer’s block around this chapter, and a lot going on over the last couple of months. Second, I’ve decided to split this chapter into two parts, because of how long it has ended up being. This first part follows the events of The Vile Village part one, and cuts off on the night of Jacques’ murder- although said murder happens offscreen. I hope you guys enjoy it! Don’t forget to read and review!**

The drive out to the Hinterlands had been taking an interminably long time. They'd been following the Baudelaires pretty much since they'd left the banker's house this morning, and hadn't stopped since- not even for gas.

The cramped back seat of the getaway car did not make things any better. With the addition of a seventh passenger, whatever wiggle room the rest of the troupe may once have had was now gone. Mildred was practically sitting in Maud's lap, and both Ainsley and Phil were uncomfortably squashed in on either side of them.

To cap it all off, the journey was incredibly unpleasant. For one thing, the Quagmires had screamed and cried intermittently since they'd left the city, which, while completely understandable, was not very pleasant to hear. For another, with the whole troupe (and Esmé) crammed into the car, the atmosphere felt a lot more tense than usual. Finally, Ainsley still had What's New Pussycat in their head, which was really not helping their mood.

As they continued down the long, dusty road, following the banker's generic mint-green car, Ainsley remembered something that might make the journey more bearable. Reaching into their jacket pocket, they produced a small bag of candy. Taking a few jelly beans, they offered the bag to Phil and the twins.

"Where did those come from?" Maud asked sceptically.

"And how long have they been in your pocket?" Mildred added.

"Since we left this morning. I grabbed them on my way out." 

They both nodded, satisfied, and pulled out a lollipop each. Phil pulled out a jawbreaker, and then it was time to ask Fernald, Esmé and the Count. They started with Fernald, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Thanks," he muttered, grabbing a couple of gummy bears. As he did so, he didn't quite meet Ainsley's eyes. He seemed a bit distracted- in fact, he had done since they'd left the city. Just then, Esmé snatched the bag before Ainsley had a chance to offer it to her.

"Hey, give that back," Fernald protested, but she ignored him, calmly picking through the bag until she found what she was looking for- two pieces of candy corn. Then, she held out the bag for Olaf.

"Darling, would you-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Esmé, I'm driving! I couldn't possibly-" He frowned, sniffing the air. "Are those sherbet lemons?"

"Among other things, yes," Esmé replied. She took one of the small, yellow sweets from the bag, unwrapped it and popped it into Olaf's mouth. While she was busy with that, Fernald grabbed the bag and handed it to Ainsley.

"Thanks," they said. 

For a moment, Fernald studied them, the strangest look on his face, like he was trying to work something out. Ainsley sighed, and settled back into their seat. They noticed Phil was glancing from them to Fernald and back again, and remembered seeing their two cohorts talking about something before the auction.

"What did you say to...?" They nodded in Fernald's direction, hoping their meaning would be understood.

"Only what should've been said ages ago." He shook his head. "This has gone on for long enough."

"What's gone on for long enough?" Esmé asked.

"This car journey," Ainsley replied, not missing a beat.

"You know, you're right. Darling, how far away are we?" she asked Olaf.

"I don't know, ask Hooky! He was supposed to be reading the map."

"Hooky, how far away are we?" she asked.

"A couple hours? I don't know, it's a pretty terribly drawn map."

"Well, this bodes well for the rest of the road trip." Ainsley muttered.

"I didn't ask for a back-seat driver," Olaf countered, a slight edge of steel creeping into his voice.

"Sorry, boss," they replied, and turned to look out the window.

It was a relief when they reached the Village of Fowl Devotees. As the banker started to slow down, so did they.

"Boss," Fernald said, not wanting to check behind him, but also wanting to address the yellow taxi in the room. "What about-" he jerked one hook in the direction they'd come.

"He who must not be named?" Olaf asked. "Well, he won't overtake us, that's for sure. He'll have slowed down too- more than he already has. The man is far too careful about the laws of the road. If we were being pursued by his sister, on the other hand..." he trailed off.

"Perhaps it's best that we don't start waxing metallic about his sister, don't you agree, darling?" Esmé replied, pointedly.

"Don't you mean waxing nostalgic?" Ainsley countered.

"Darling, nobody likes a know-it-all show-off. It's very out." Ainsley said nothing.

Finally, the banker parked beside the Fowl Fountain, and Olaf parked just outside the town. The car was not very well hidden, but it would probably be better once they'd got the red herring off the roof.

Once the coast was clear, Ainsley and Phil carried the giant fish between them- which was harder than it seemed, as the Quagmires kept moving around inside it, like they were trying to knock both it and themselves out of their captors' hands. Fernald, Mildred and Maud carried the suitcases belonging to Olaf and the troupe, and Esmé carried her two suitcases- apparently she didn't trust the others to do it for her, as the contents of both cases were far too expensive and valuable. Olaf walked ahead, empty-handed.

"Here we are, everyone! The Fire House Saloon!" he announced.

They all filed in, and set down what they were carrying. Esmé placed her belongings far away from everyone else's, which seemed unnecessary. What exactly did she think was going to happen to them? Nobody was going to steal them, and there would be no mistaking them for anyone else's- not when they had "E.S" written on them in big, gold, fancy letters.

"Before we go any further," she announced, "I need to address something that has been bothering me since we left the city." She turned to Ainsley. "Would you please go upstairs and wipe off that ghastly nail polish?"

"That was it?" Olaf asked, confused. "I thought it was something more serious."

"Darling, did you _see_ their nails? Did you see that frightfully out shade of green they chose?"

This was one of the few decent things about Esmé- she may be an insufferable, shallow diva, but at least she had managed to get Ainsley's pronouns right so far. As far as decent things went, it was pretty bare minimum, but it did make a difference.

* * *

After Esmé tossed Ainsley a bottle of nail polish remover and sent them on their way, Olaf set the rest of the troupe to tidying up the saloon a bit. Seeing his opportunity, Fernald slipped up the stairs.

Now, being on a long and unpleasant car journey had, if nothing else, given Fernald plenty of time to think about things. More accurately, it had given him plenty of time to think about what Phil had said, just before the auction. _You know Ainsley has a massive crush on you, right?_

Just like that, he'd had to re-contextualise everything he'd thought he'd known about his friend. Every conversation, every look, every damn time they'd fussed over their hair. Hell- that alone should've been a huge sign. After all, since when had Ainsley, who had always made it clear that the way they chose to look was their business, suddenly care what he thought about their appearance?

A dozen moments meant something new now. Their disappointed face when he'd said their Nurse Lucafont disguise was a bit much. The way they'd sounded during the phone call about the date that wasn't. Everything about the night at Prufrock Prep, as well as their conversation in the staffroom.

Finally, he'd had to confront the truth- the same truth that had him wandering around the top floor of the saloon, checking every door and wondering what he'd do when he actually found what he was looking for: Ainsley's feelings were not one-sided, and they hadn't been for a long time.

It was a relief when, finally, he knocked on one of the doors and got a response.

"What is it?" Ainsley asked.

"Um, it's me," he replied, in case it wasn't obvious, what with the whole "metal hook rapping on a wooden door" thing. "Can I come in? I need to talk to you."

They opened the door, and let him in. They'd removed their hat, and had already finished clearing one hand of the nail polish Esmé had found so repulsive.

He'd meant it when he'd said he needed to talk to Ainsley. Really, he had. There were at least a dozen things he wanted to (and probably should) tell them. But in that moment, he found that he couldn't say any of them. Instead, all he could do was walk over to Ainsley, grab them by the lapels of their jacket, and kiss them.

* * *

Did that really just happen? Or was Ainsley just imagining things? Was this maybe a hallucination, brought on from exhaustion and fumes from the nail polish remover? Before they could really think too much about the answer, Fernald pulled back.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have just... I should've checked..."

Ainsley frowned, used to being the one who stumbled over their words in awkward moments- not being the one who watched someone else fumble around for a complete sentence. On the one hand, this was technically good, as it was proof that they weren't dreaming- whenever they'd dreamed this moment in the past, it had never been awkward. On the other hand... This was painfully, painfully awkward, and there was only one way Ainsley could think of to fix that fact. Resting their hands on Fernald's shoulders, they leaned in and kissed him. 

Now that they were both on the same page, and had a bit of peace and quiet, Ainsley would've been quite happy if they could just keep kissing forever. It was a shame that humans had to breath- a bit of an inconvenient design flaw, now that they thought about it. They still couldn't believe that any of this was actually happening, but the more that they thought about it, the more sure they were that they didn't actually care one way or the other. They just wanted to enjoy this while it lasted. 

The end came disappointingly soon- though it would probably have felt that way no matter how long they'd kept at it. Ainsley had been aware of Fernald's hook resting on the back of their head, but they'd thought nothing of it. They felt a very slight sting, but would've been happy to ignore that, if Fernald hadn't, at that moment, pulled away, and took a step back. It wasn't until they saw the few dark strands of hair that had come loose in his hook that they fully realised what must've happened.

"Ainse... I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Ainsley patted him on the shoulder.

"It's fine- it doesn't even really hurt." They went over to the small, cracked mirror on the wall, and assessed the damage. "It doesn't look that bad, either," they added. They ran a finger over their lips, which actually hurt more than their head did. That was new- they'd never made out with someone to the point where it had lasting consequences.

"Are you sure?" They nodded.

"Yeah- I'm kinda weird about pain- it takes a lot for it to really register." To their surprise, Fernald nodded in understanding.

"It's not that weird- my sister's like that. She..." He trailed off, realising what he'd just said, what he'd just revealed. Ainsley realised it, too- though they weren't quite sure how they were supposed to react to it. Should they acknowledge the information, or pretend that they hadn't heard anything? In the end, they decided to settle for honesty.

"I didn't know you had a sister." they said. "I mean, I was starting to suspect that there was somebody- a young relative of some description that you weren't telling us about, that you were protecting. I just didn't realise it was a sister, not a niece or a nephew or something." Fernald raised an eyebrow.

"I definitely don't have any nieces or nephews. Fiona's my only sibling, and she's fifteen."

"Your sister's name is Fiona?" Ainsley asked, frowning slightly. "I didn't know parents actually did that- gave their kids names starting with the same letter."

"You're aware of Mildred and Maud, right? The sisters we work with whose names both start with M?"

"That's different- they're twins." Plus, they were pretty old. They were perhaps not the best example of siblings having the same initials in this day and age.

"That's true." He paused for a moment, like he was trying to think about whether he ought to ask his next question, before continuing. "What about you? Have you got any siblings?" 

"Yeah- an older brother, and a younger sister. And no, their names don't start with A. They're called Brandon and Christine, though we've all called Christine Chrissy since she was a kid."

"Brandon and Christine?" Fernald asked, in mock disappointment. "Not Andrew and Abigail? Or Adrian and Amelia?"

"Nope- for our parents, naming their kids was as easy as A, B, C. Or, B, A, C, to be more accurate." They smiled at their own little joke, then looked over their shoulder at the door. "It's weird- this is the longest we've been left alone for a while. Do you think something's happened?" 

"I was just thinking that, actually," Fernald replied, then quietly walked over to the door. He stepped into the corridor, and crept towards the stairs. 

* * *

If you stopped at the right spot, you could look down and see what was going on, and, as long as the people below you didn't know where to look, they wouldn't see you. Fernald didn't know where this spot actually was, but when he spotted the hole in the corridor wall, he decided that it was worth checking out.

Through the hole, he could see the Baudelaires' perpetually pathetic banker, standing on one side of the bar. On the other, stood the Count, wearing a fake, orange beard, and a familiar black bowler hat. He felt Ainsley's hand on his shoulder, and turned away from the scene below in order to face them. 

"What's going-" He held one hook up to their mouth, and nodded in the direction they'd come from. Taking the hint, Ainsley stumbled to their feet. They only just managed not to fall over, or make any suspiciously loud noises. Fernald, on the other hand, managed to stand up silently, years of training and sneaking around the Queequeg coming in handy. Together, they went back down the corridor, and back to the room they'd left.

"That stupid banker still hasn't left," Fernald said, once he'd closed the door. Ainsley sat on the bed, and pulled out the bottle of nail polish remover again. "He's down there, talking to the boss, who I'm pretty sure has borrowed Phil's hat for the occasion."

"What should we do?" they asked, getting to work on the dark green nail polish left on their right hand.

"I don't know- but I think we should stay up here for now. If we go down while the banker is still there, it'll just seem suspicious."

"We could pretend we're on our honeymoon or something- he'd never suspect a happy, loved-up couple of being criminals." Fernald raised an eyebrow, and went over to sit beside them.

"Right. Because when I think of great honeymoon destinations, I think of a dusty little saloon in a tiny village where everyone dresses like they're extras on Little House On The Prairie." 

Then, the rest of what they'd said really sunk in. He went over their comment in his head, lingering on the word_ couple. _Was that what they were now? If they did what Ainsley was suggesting, would it actually be pretending, or was it reality?

"Ainse," he began, shifting so that he was facing them properly. "I think we should talk about..." Before he could continue, there was a knock on the door. _Of course,_ he thought, flicking his gaze up to the ceiling and sighing heavily. 

"Ainsley?" It was Phil, which he supposed was good- after all, it could've just as easily been the Count, or Esmé. But frankly, he was too annoyed at being interrupted to feel particularly grateful. "Are you still in here?" 

"Yeah- I'll just be a second." Wiping away the last of the varnish, they stood up, and went to open the door. 

"The boss wants you downstairs. I think we're supposed to go to the courthouse, and we need to get our disguises sorted before we go." He looked over Ainsley's shoulder, and spotted Fernald. "You'd better come too." He managed to sound completely unfazed by his presence.

"Got it," Fernald muttered, getting to his feet. The three of them headed along the corridor and down the stairs. Phil didn't ask any questions about what had happened, and for that, if nothing else, Fernald was grateful. He was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened, and having to answer fifty questions about it was not going to make the answer any clearer.

* * *

Once Ainsley made it downstairs, they were promptly given a disguise to wear, courtesy of Esmé.

"We're meant to be blending in," she explained, once they were all changed. "And since _some_ of you feel the need to make your every outfit some kind of explosion in a fabric shop, it's fell to me to ensure you all look normal." 

Bold words coming from somebody in thigh high red boots and a sky blue bicycle helmet, Ainsley thought, rolling their eyes. Surely that would look more conspicuous around here than anything any of them could put together? They'd find out soon enough, as they'd have to get over to the city hall as soon as possible. They had to introduce Officer Luciana to the village, and make sure that the Baudelaires knew that they weren't alone- and not in the good, comforting way.

The town hall was pretty packed, but the troupe managed to find a space up in the gallery. Nobody seemed to think anything of the five new residents who had materialised into the village, which Ainsley admittedly hadn't been expecting. Not when this seemed like the kind of village that would have the exact population on a sign outside, and where people looked at you weirdly if you were a stranger.

"This sucks," they muttered. "This is nothing like the movies."

"Yeah- it's a lot more boring than I was expecting," Fernald replied. He looked down at the emptying hall below them. "What should we do now?"

"Maybe we should go ask Esmé," Phil suggested. "She might have a few ideas."

"You just want an excuse to talk to her," Ainsley muttered, but nevertheless followed the rest of the troupe down into the hall. It was mostly empty now, but the Council of Elders were still sitting at their table. Esmé glanced at the troupe, then turned to the council.

"If you don't mind, I had better be going- I have important Chief of Police business to be getting on with," she said, in the same ridiculous accent she'd used during the meeting. She gestured for the troupe to follow her out into the now-empty corridor. "What is it?" she asked, in her normal voice.

"We're not really sure what we're supposed to do now, and we were wondering if you had any ideas," Phil said.

"I don't know! I'm a financial adviser, not a henchperson! Honestly, you're all supposed to be grown-ups, aren't you? Surely you don't need Olaf or I holding your hands and telling you what to do all the time."

"You're right, Mrs Squalor-" Mildred began.

"Esmé, please. Mrs Squalor was my mother-in-law. Or was she my mother? Either way, it doesn't matter."

"Anyway, Mrs Squalor," Maud continued, as if Esmé hadn't spoken. "You're right, you shouldn't need to tell us what to do." 

"But under the particular circumstances," her sister went on, "we've just about done all there is to do, and we're looking for ways to fill our time till it's time to move on." The others nodded in agreement.

"Go egg a building, then. Or set it on fire, whichever. Nothing makes the time go by quite like vandalism or arson."

* * *

And so, because none of them could think of anything better to do, they decided to follow her advice. At least, they decided to follow the vandalism part, not the arson part. Armed with baskets of eggs and several rolls of toilet paper, the troupe set out to make the village into a suburban, post-Halloween nightmare.

"This is more like it, eh, Mil?" Maud asked her sister. "This is what we signed up for- casual acts of villainy, the kind that scares narrow-minded old people, but doesn't seriously hurt anyone."

"Um, I hate to break this to you guys, but... You're also both old people." Ainsley pointed out .

"Yes, but we're not narrow-minded. That's the difference." Mildred replied.

"She's got a point there, Ainse," Fernald said, before he could think better of it.

"_Ainse?_" Mildred asked, eyes twinkling behind her glasses. "There's an interesting development!"

"And one that was a long time coming, too!" Maud added.

"It's just a nickname, though, it-" he paused, realising that in this moment, with all four of them standing there, he had two options. And this choice was going to determine what was happening between him and Ainsley for a long time to come. 

Either he admitted that the twins had guessed correctly, and let them all in on the secret, or he denied what was going on, say that the nickname didn't mean anything, and leave Ainsley to assume that he wasn't just talking about the nickname.

He didn't know what to say. On the one hand, whatever this thing was between him and Ainsley, it felt raw and tender, new and undefined. Which would make trying to explain it complicated, to say the least. Maybe he could be vague about it, leave it up for interpretation... But even as he thought it, he knew he couldn't. Not with Ainsley standing right there, not when he knew how much they needed definitions, needed things to make sense, and be easy to follow and understand.

He looked at Ainsley, and noticed that they weren't looking at him. There was a tension in them, he could see it from here- like they were expecting his denial, and were preparing themselves for it. That was what did it, what made him come to a decision. 

"It is technically just a nickname. But it does mean something- exactly what you all think it means." He paused. "Now, that's all I'm going to say about it right now. Let's get on with trashing this place. We can always talk later." With that, he picked up one of the baskets of eggs, and headed off in the direction of the church.

* * *

Ainsley didn't necessarily decide to follow. They simply picked up the other egg basket, and walked towards the church. Fernald had already gotten started- from the look of things, he'd already smashed at least three eggs, and was about to smash a fourth. Ainsley set down their basket.

"Hey," they said, smiling when he turned to face them, still holding his egg.

"Hey," he said, and quickly tossed the egg over his shoulder. 

"Can we talk?" This was perhaps not the best way to start this conversation, just jumping into it without much thought or planning. At the same time, though, perhaps this was the best way to start it, while they had both the opportunity and the courage to go through with it.

"Yeah, sure," Fernald replied , taking a step away from the basket, closer towards Ainsley. "What's up?" 

"Why did you kiss me?" they asked, deciding to get right to the point.

"I hadn't planned on it. Not like that, I mean. I'd meant to talk to you, to explain everything. But when I was actually there, in the moment... I don't know. Actions seemed better than words- and a lot harder to misinterpret." Ainsley nodded, accepting the explanation.

"That makes sense," they replied. "Can I ask you something else?" He nodded. "Is this about me?"

"What?"

"I mean, did you kiss me because you have feelings for me, or because you're looking for a way to get over Olaf?"

"It was because I have feelings for you," he said , taking another step closer. "If this was about Olaf, I wouldn't have brought you into it. Apart from anything else, you're my friend, and I wouldn't string you along like that, it wouldn't be right." 

Ainsley smiled, not sure what to say in response. They stepped forward once more, closing the distance, and reached out for Fernald's wrist, wrapping their hand around it. They hoped that this would help communicate their feelings without actually saying anything. 

“We should probably get back to egging the building,” he said, eventually, reluctantly stepping away to pick up another egg from one of their baskets. Ainsley sighed, and did the same. They took care not to throw the egg too high, though, keeping in mind who would have to clean it away in the morning.

* * *

Eventually, their work was done, and they returned to the saloon. The five of them stayed there the next day as well, awaiting the day’s inevitable orders. While they waited, they took it in turns to look through a copy of the official village rule book. Whenever one of them found a rule that was particularly ridiculous, they had to say it out loud. 

Right now, it was Fernald’s turn. Whenever he read a rule aloud, Phil would draw another tally mark on the large piece of paper he’d dubbed the scoreboard. So far, Mildred had found the most, though Maud was close behind her.

“Do you think there’s a rule against coffee?” Ainsley asked. They’d been in the kitchen hunting down mugs, and had poked their head round the door to ask the question.

“I’m not sure...” Fernald began, and scanned the page he was on. “Here we are, Rule 642- citizens are permitted to prepare hot drinks such as coffee, however they are not permitted to use coffee machines or similar devices in order to make them, as this contradicts the rule about mechanical devices.”

“Alright.”They disappeared back into the kitchen. For a moment, Fernald wondered of he should join them, or if they would prefer to be given space to work. 

That was the main part of this whole relationship business that he wasn’t quite clear on- knowing when to give Ainsley space and when to be at their side. At least, not in everyday situations like this one. In more serious situations, he was sure, it would be more obvious. 

They were summoned before the coffee even finished brewing. Esmé came sweeping into the saloon, still dressed as Officer Luciana. 

“Come on, we need to get to the Town Hall, right now,” she informed them. 

“What’s happened?” Fernald asked, closing the rule book. 

“Follow me, and I’ll tell you.” Obediently, they all followed her out of the saloon. “So,” she began, once the door swung shut behind them. “I have some good news!” She was using the same foreign accent she’d been using yesterday, and Fernald noticed she was talking a little louder than usual, and taking the slightly more populated route to the Town Hall. She wanted people to overhear her. “We have captured Count Olaf!” At that, one of the villagers, who’d been walking past the group, turned to look at Esmé.

“I’m sorry, did you say you’ve _captured_ Count Olaf?”

“Certainly!” Fernald frowned. Certainly, that was good news for a lot of people, especially the Baudelaires, but why was _Esmé_ so pleased about it? There had to be more to this situation.

Sure enough, when they entered the Town Hall and took their balcony seats from yesterday, none of them were surprised to see that the man Esmé brought into the courtroom was not the Count. Still, when Fernald saw who it was, he was nonetheless shocked- even though, deep down, he’d suspected something like this was going to happen. 

Because this man wasn’t just anyone. He was _Jacques Snicket_, careful taxi driver, loyal volunteer and selectively reliable journalist. Fernald recognised him right away, even though it had been years, even though he was in disguise. You didn’t forget the people who’d changed your life, whether for better or for worse. Even if they didn’t realise they’d done anything of the sort.

That was something he didn’t know- did Snicket even remember writing that article? And if he did, did he have any idea the impact it’d had? Did he care? 

Probably not- after all, it wasn’t as if it was _his_ family that had been affected. _He_ wasn’t the one who’d had to leave his eight-year-old sister in the care of a temperamental submarine captain, not knowing if or when he’d see her again. 

Of course, there was no evidence to suggest than any of the Snickets had any involvement in what had happened. Even if Fernald knew otherwise- certainly, Kit Snicket had helped bring the issue to the attention of the Queequeg, and helped to get the ball rolling. Not that that mattered, of course- it was in the past, no changing it now.

There was also no evidence to suggest that Snicket was actually the Count, either, not that it mattered. The irony was not lost on Fernald, of course. Maybe this “crime” would be reported in the Daily Punctilio, and it would naturally be riddled with inaccuracies.

Fernald knew it was a little petty, but he couldn’t help but feel a strange kind of justice at the thought. Sure, it wouldn’t make up for what had happened as a result of what he’d said eight years ago, but at least it would give him some idea of what living with those lies had been like. 

“Fernald?” Ainsley had rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” He nodded, and looked down at the court room. Olaf was down there, dressed in a new disguise. This time, he was wearing a straw hat with a narrow brim, a pair of sunglasses and a purple jacket. He looked ridiculous. 

Fernald wasn’t sure exactly how much he’d missed, but it didn’t take long to realise what was going on. Olaf was stirring up the crowd, trying to convince them of something- the best way to punish Snicket. He wanted them to reach a particular conclusion, but Fernald wasn’t sure what it was, at least not until Olaf came out and said it. 

“I say we burn Count Olaf at the stake!”

Fernald blinked. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. He didn’t know how he felt about it either. Yes, he had been hoping that there would be some kind of consequence for Snicket, but he’d wanted him to have to live with those consequences. A death sentence seemed both too extreme and too easy. It was a strange combination. 

He turned to face Ainsley, only to find they were gone. 

“Where’s...” he began. Phil shrugged. 

Don’t know. They left after the death sentence was announced.” 

“I see.” Fernald knew that the correct response would be to try and find them. But just the thought of doing so felt so exhausting, after everything he’d just heard. The thought of doing_ anything_ felt so exhausting. 

* * *

Ainsley had been pacing the corridor of the saloon for at least the last five minutes when they heard the others come in. They did not stop pacing, though, there was too much to think about. 

They kept coming back to that guy from the courtroom, the one who clearly wasn’t Count Olaf. He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to pay for everything Olaf had done. And there was nothing any of them could do to stop it. 

There was also the matter of Fernald, and how he’d responded to seeing the guy. There was something going on there, something involving the two of them that Ainsley knew nothing about. 

It shouldn’t seem that shocking or even troubling to think that there were parts of Fernald’s past that they knew nothing about. They should be used to it by now. They also knew it was unreasonable to be upset that, despite the events of the last day or two, they didn’t know anything about this particular side of his past. It hadn’t come up in conversation, there had been no reason for it to. 

Besides, getting upset at Fernald was just a distraction from the real problem- the fact that a man was going to die, calling the promise they’d made weeks ago into question. They weren’t sure what to do about that, whether they should… 

“Ainsley?” They turned to find Phil waiting at the top of the stairs. “You alright up here?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” they replied, and walked over to him. “How’s Fernald?” 

“He’s… It’s hard to say. I mean, he’d been pretty quiet since you left- whoever that guy was, it must’ve really shaken him when he showed up. He’s been in a weird mood ever since.” Ainsley nodded. 

“I’m gonna head down and see if he’s alright,” they said, then paused. “Or is that maybe a bad idea?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Phil replied, and led the way down. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found Fernald sitting on the piano bench, frowning down at the black and white keys. Ainsley went over to him.

“Mind if I join you?” they asked. Rather than answer their question verbally, Fernald shuffled along the bench a little to make room for them, and they sat down beside him. “Are you okay?”

Again, they were not met with a verbal response. Instead, Fernald started tapping out a tune on the piano. At first it was simple, easy enough that anyone could learn to play it in no time at all. But it kept growing more complex as it went along, until it became the sort of tune that would require far more skill and talent. Also, it would require more fingers than the current player could pretend to have. Finally, the said player gave up, closed the lid and leaned his elbows on it.

“I’m fine,” he said, though even Ainsley could see that he wasn’t, not really. 

“What happened?” they asked. “Who was that guy? What’s going on?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Okay,” Ainsley replied, deciding in that moment not to probe further, even though they wanted to. As much as they wanted to know what was going on, they knew that they could wait a little longer to find out.

* * *

Later, after the others had gone upstairs- rather reluctantly, in Ainsley’s case- Fernald still sat on the piano bench, thinking. He kept coming back to Jacques Snicket, sitting in his jail cell, ready to pay for someone else’s crimes. The man was going to die tomorrow morning, no ifs or buts or what ifs. It may well be more than Fernald had actually wanted in terms of getting justice, but it hardly mattered now.

The frustrating part, if he were being honest, was the knowledge that Snicket would die not knowing the full extent of the damage his lies had caused. Worse than that, though, Fernald would never know why exactly he’d spread them in the first place. Not that there was any explanation that could make up for the last eight years, of course, but it would be better than nothing.

He got to his feet. There was nothing to stop him from walking over to the town jail right now, and getting the answers he needed. He who hesitated was lost, after all, as his stepfather would say. Normally, of course, he’d dismiss the old man’s mottoes and sayings as a matter of principle. Right now, though, this particular saying- despite being absurdly exclusionary, and in need of better phrasing- felt relevant to the current situation. 

Even so, he made himself hesitate, just for a moment, to think about what he was doing. He would need to have some time alone with Snicket- quite a lot of time, actually, if they were going to hash out everything that needed hashing out. How would he manage that, with Olaf and Esme lurking around the place, standing guard? 

Plus, there was the question of his accomplice, the anonymous dark-haired woman who’d been in the taxi with him. At least, Fernald assumed that’s who it was, He’d just been able to spy the two people in the taxi- he hadn’t known for sure who they were. 

Regardless, her presence would complicate things majorly, and Fernald wasn’t sure it was worth the risk. And once that spark of doubt crept in, it didn’t take long for the whole plan to go up in smoke. Finally, he sighed, and reluctantly dragged himself up the stairs to bed. 


	8. The Mistaken Murderers Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Baudelaires are fitted up for murder, Ainsley remembers an old acquaintance and Fernald attempts a jailbreak.

Chapter Eight- The Mistaken Murderers Part Two

A loud knocking woke Ainsley the next morning.

“Everyone, get up! I want all of you over at the Fowl Fountain in five minutes!” There was no doubting to whom the voice belonged, and there was no questioning its demands, figuratively or literally.

Ainsley sighed, and went to get up, only to find that someone had put an arm around them during the night- a familiar arm, with a familiar cover over the wrist, devoid of its usual hook.

They lay still for a second, unsure how they felt about this latest development. They turned to look at Fernald, and found that he was still asleep. Gently, they moved his arm and stood up.

“Hurry up!” Olaf yelled. I’m not going to tell you again!”

Ainsley rolled their eyes and grabbed their contact lenses, trying to put them in as quickly as they could.

“I didn’t know you wore contacts,” Phil said, from where he was sitting on the ground. The twins had taken the bed, leaving the others to sleep on the floor.

“We’ve all been sharing a room for nearly three days, and you’re only just now finding that out?”

“Henchfolk!” Olaf called, before they could say any more. “Get out here right now! We do not have time for this!” Finally, the troupe obeyed, and left the room.

At first, when the six of them arrived at the town square, Ainsley wasn’t sure what they were seeing. Or at least, they weren’t sure they wanted to see what they were seeing.

There was a body lying on a stretcher. A man’s body, to be specific. A man with dark hair, and a dark moustache, and a deathly pale pallor. Ainsley didn’t even know his name, or what exactly had led to his death.

It didn’t matter, though, the specific details. What mattered was that death had once again come to town, and Ainsley was reminded of the promise they’d made themself, before they’d went to Prufrock Prep, to walk away the next time someone died. They were just about to slip away when a voice spoke up.

“What happened here?” asked Klaus Baudelaire.

“Come away, children,” said their guardian, the handyman. “This is nothing you want to see.”

“Not so fast, daddio!” Olaf cut in, before the Baudelaires could be led away. “It’s just not cool to dismiss suspects at the scene of a crime!”

“_Suspects?” _Violet asked, incredulously.

“That’s right, little lady!”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ainsley muttered. “We can’t just-”

“These aren’t suspects!” the banker protested. Ainsley had forgotten he was still there. “These are children!”

“They are not mutually exclusive,” Esmé pointed out.

“That’s certainly true, Officer!” Olaf replied.

“Now, now, what evidence do you have for these accusations?” asked the banker.

“Plenty! I’m not stupid, I know you can't go around accusing people without evidence. Luckily, I am a great detective, and I found some!”

That sounded ominous, Ainsley thought, once again being reminded of the old detective show they used to watch, the one with the female detective disguised as a nurse. The senior detective had never had much of a problem with “fitting people up,” planting evidence where he deemed it appropriate. It looked like the Baudelaires were about to be _fitted up _now.

“Look what we have here!” Olaf declared, whipping out a set of blueprints from one Baudelaire’s pocket. “Blueprints to the county jail! Now, why would these be here, if they weren’t being used to find Count Olaf’s cell, break in and murder him? Well?”

“We weren’t trying to _murder _anyone!” Violet protested.

“So you admit the blueprints are yours?” asked one of the Elders.

“Well, yes, but-”

“That’s enough!” replied the Elder. “That answers the question of how they found the cell, but how did they get in?”

“You’re up,” Phil muttered, nudging Ainsley’s arm. When they didn’t move, though, he sighed and walked over to the side of the jail.

“What’s that?” A voice in the crowd asked, pointing at it.

“I think it’s some kind of mechanical device,” Ainsley said.

“A mechanical device!” gasped one of the Elders.

“There it is, folks!” Olaf said, before starting to rap. “You see? Orphans are dragsville, man! They come into your village, sneak into your jail, they kill and they pillage, with the help of these!” He waved the blueprints around, in case anyone had managed to miss them. “Blue bird, blue sky, blueberry pie, blueprints! The Baudelaires used these to find a weak spot in the wall, so they could use a device of mechanics so mean, to punch a hole in the wall of the jail! They crept in on bad cat paws, and snuffed out the light of Count Olaf, um, in the night!”

“This is ridiculous!” Violet protested. “Those things may have been ours, but that doesn’t mean we’re murderers!”

“She’s not wrong!” Olaf pointed out. “These two aren’t murderers- they’re accomplices!”

“_What?” _Ainsley said, before they could think better of it.

“I can’t be the only one who noticed the tooth marks on Count Olaf’s body,” Olaf said, carrying on like nobody had spoken. “There’s only one person so uncool as to bite someone to death!” He paused dramatically. “The murderer, who murdered Count Olaf, is none other than… Sunny Baudelaire!”

“That can’t be right!” exclaimed the banker. “I’ll admit she has unusually sharp teeth, but-”

“That’s what I’m saying! She’s a killer! A killer baby with deadly teeth! Dig those choppers, man!”

“Our sister didn’t bite anyone to death! Detective Dupin is lying!” Violet protested, but it was no use.

Ainsley couldn’t deal with this any more. While Olaf and Esmé were distracted, they left. They all but ran back to the saloon, and up the stairs to the room the troupe had been sharing.

They didn’t actually have a plan- they just got changed into more comfortable clothes for travelling in, and packed their suitcase, trying not to think about what was going on in the square. It was beyond horrible to even contemplate, and ultimately pointless. Realistically, there was nothing that could be done at this stage. It was weak, and cowardly, there was no arguing with that. But sometimes it was better to make one cowardly decision, if it meant you wouldn’t make a cruel one instead.

Ainsley bore that in mind as they checked over the small collection of tapes they’d brought, making sure they were all there, before taking out one that was labelled “Black Cat.” Black Cat was the name of a coffee shop Ainsley had frequented when they were a child living in a small town pulled back from the brink by a brilliant chemist.

They put the tape into their Walkman, then tucked it into their pocket. Then they put on their headphones, picked up their suitcase, and pressed play with their free hand.

The first song on the tape- like so many of the others- had been old when Ainsley first heard it, and it was even older now. It reminded them of an afternoon long ago, and a woman who’d worn a hat the colour of a raspberry, and brought a brief moment of mystery to an otherwise forgettable day.

Ainsley pulled open the door, and was a little surprised to see Fernald on the other side, one hook raised to knock.

“What are you doing here?” they asked, pulling down their headphones.

“I was gonna check that you were okay, but that’s not important now. Where are you going?”

“Where do you think I’m going?” Ainsley asked. “I’m going home.”

“You’re really gonna stick to that promise you made, even though it’s been weeks since you actually made it?”

“You actually thought I wouldn’t, after everything that’s happened?” they countered.

“Well, no, but… but that was a while ago now, and I kinda thought-”

“What?” Ainsley asked, frowning. “You thought that, because of what happened between us the other day, I’d forget all about what I said?”

“Well, no, but...” He sighed, and took a step forwards. Ainsley took a step back, determined to keep some distance between them.

“Fernald, listen- I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and that’s not gonna change if I leave.” They paused, choosing their words carefully. “But after everything that happened yesterday, and this morning… I seriously can’t do this any more. I want to go home.”

“Ainse...” Fernald began, taking another step forward.

“Don’t,” Ainsley replied, stepping back once again. “Don’t call me that- it’s just making this worse.”

“So that’s it- you’re just going to walk away, pretend like nothing happened? Like we didn’t-”

“It was a few kisses- it’s not like we got engaged.”

“I told you about Fiona! I trusted you with something I’ve not trusted any of the others with. Do you have any idea what a big deal that is for me to do?”

“You couldn’t trust me with anything else, though, could you? Not with who that guy was yesterday, or why you acted so weird after he showed up- or why you’re so damn apathetic about his death. And don’t say it’s because he’s VFD, that doesn’t mean anything to me. Give me a proper reason, or don’t bother.”

“Fine. You want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you. Afterwards, though, there’s something I need to do. You don’t have to help me- there’ll be no hard feelings. But if you do wanna help, we could leave Olaf, and go out with a bang.”

“Alright,” Ainsley replied.

“So, the first thing I should tell you is who that guy was yesterday, and how I knew him,” he began. “His name was Jacques Snicket, and we were both in VFD together.” Reaching down, he lifted his left trouser leg a little, revealing the same stylized eye tattoo that decorated the Count’s ankle.

“What happened?” they asked.

“A lot of things. I was in VFD for eight years. Snicket clearly never left, which is its own kettle of fish.” Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a dark grey notebook, carefully removed a sheet of paper and handed it to Ainsley.

The paper was a newspaper article from the Daily Punctillio. The date at the top was from just over eight years ago, and the headline read: “Anwhistle Aquatics Burns Down,” and it was written by Jacques Snicket.

“It has now been confirmed,” Ainsley began to read, “that the fire that destroyed Anwhistle Aquatics, and took the life of famed ichnologist Greg Anwhistle, was set by Fernald Widdershins, the son of the captain of the Queequeg submarine.” They frowned, looking up from the article. “Is this true?”

“It’s a severe misrepresentation of the truth,” Fernald replied. “For one thing, Captain Widdershins isn’t my actual father- which should be obvious to anyone paying attention, since he’s a weird white guy with a Herman Melville fixation who’s not that much older than me. For another, we didn’t just burn Anwhistle Aquatics down for the hell of it. Gregor Anwhistle was developing an extremely deadly fungus- so deadly I don’t think I’d want Fiona anywhere near it, and she’s one of the only people I know who might actually know how to handle it. But that got left out of the article. Basically Snicket used that article to control the narrative, which led to me getting kicked out of VFD, and starting down the path that’s brought me here.”

“Is that why you reacted so weirdly when he showed up?” Ainsley asked, handing back the article.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I wish I’d got a chance to talk to him, you know? Confront him about what happened. But I won’t get that chance now.” He sighed, then tucked the grey notebook back into his pocket. “But there’s nothing that can be done about that now. Better to focus on the things we can do something about.”

“Is this the part where you reveal your new plan?” they asked. He nodded.

“Olaf’s plan is to burn the Baudelaires at the stake for Snicket’s murder. He’s locked them up in the Uptown Jail right now, and the execution is supposed to take place later today.”

“And what’s your plan?” Ainsley asked.

“My plan is to go to the Uptown Jail, break the kids out- all five of them. Then I’m getting out of here. Ideally, I’ll take the kids too, and try to take them somewhere safe, though I have no idea where that might be, how I can get them trust me enough to pull that off, or how I’d get away from here in the first place.”

“We could steal Olaf’s car,” Ainsley replied, simply.

“We? You mean, you’re in?” They nodded. “Great! Okay, you load up the car, I’ll carry out the jail break.”

* * *

With that, they made their way to the door- and this time, they found Mildred and Maud standing in the doorway.

“What’s taking you two so long?” asked Mildred.

“We were just talking,” Fernald replied, a little too quickly.

“Talking?” Maud asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“…Talking?” Ainsley asked, looking genuinely confused. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ve always called it that.”

“That’s… that’s not what they meant, Ainse- I don’t think that’s what they meant at all.”

“Ah,” they said. Fernald wondered, at that point, if it might help to adopt a similar code to the one he used to use with Fiona, to help her recognise jokes, sarcasm and figures of speech. Maybe he’d talk to Ainsley about it later.

“Anyway, what’s going on?” he asked the twins, aware that they really didn’t have time to waste standing around talking.

“The boss wants help setting up the bonfire. All hands on deck, he said,” Mildred replied.

“I see,” Fernald said. Beside him, he was aware of Ainsley stiffening at the mention of the bonfire. “Would you three mind going on ahead? I’ll be right behind you once I’ve finished loading up the car.” The twins frowned at him. “We’ve moving on after this, aren’t we? I can’t think why we’d wanna stay here any longer than we need to. So it makes sense to pack up our stuff now, so we’re ready to go.”

“That does make sense,” both twins said at once.

“Right then, I’ll do that.” He turned to Ainsley. “Do you want me to pack up your Walkman, or do you want to hold onto it?” They were quiet for a moment, before handing him the device.

“Don’t want the Council to see it,” they said. “Might get in trouble.”

After the three of them left, Fernald made quick work of packing up the troupe’s suitcases, bringing them down to the car. Ideally, he wanted Phil and the twins to come too, so he brought all five of their cases down, not just his and Ainsley’s. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they didn’t want to come, but he’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Something made him grab Olaf and Esmé's cases too- the idea of leaving them in this dead-end town with literally nothing but their disguises felt oddly satisfying.

Once the car was loaded up, Fernald made his way across the town to the jail. The streets were empty- everyone must be either still at the town square, or at home, waiting for the burning. They’d be waiting a very long time.

The jail was another matter, though. Fernald wished he’d brought a disguise of some kind- the hat and trench coat he’d worn at Dr Montgomery’s, maybe. It didn’t take him long to see why that disguise would’ve been a bad idea, though- the Poes were coming down the stairs. Mrs. Poe was rambling about the story she could get from “Detective Dupin” and “Officer Luciana,” and her husband, to his limited credit, was listening patiently.

Quickly, Fernald ducked behind a pillar. They probably wouldn’t recognise him- they really didn’t seem to have a knack for remembering faces. But one look out the window, at the fading afternoon light, told him there was no time to stop and find out. As soon as they were gone, he slipped out from behind the pillar- and was startled by a loud crash which echoed through the building.

He waited a minute before going to investigate- just in case Olaf and Esmé had the same idea. Then he made his way over to the cells, where the noise had come from. It was a slow journey- he didn’t want to be caught. Finally, though, he reached the cells. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised at what he saw. Both cells were empty, and there was a huge, gaping hole in the outside wall of the deluxe cell.

The only things that were left inside the cell were a wooden bench, a loaf of bread and four slips of paper stuck to the wall. But there was no girl, no boy, and no toddler.

“I really hope those kids have some idea of what they’re doing,” he muttered, slipping quietly out of the hole.

Fernald honestly wasn’t sure what to do next. He should go back to the troupe, convince all four of them to leave with him, or at least give them their stuff back if they didn’t want to come. But it felt kind of pointless now, since they couldn’t break the Baudelaires out. The fact that they’d already busted themselves out seemed beside the point.

Finally, he sighed, and started making his way to the Fowl Fountain. Maybe, if he couldn’t help the Baudelaires, he could at least help the Quagmires. But he was too late on that count, as well. Violet and Klaus were lifting Sunny up as they could, so she could peer into the beak of the large stone bird. They were so close to getting it open- if Sunny could just grab the lower half of the beak… there. He left them to it, hoping they would have a plan of what they were gonna do next.

Reluctantly, he made his way to find the rest of the troupe. They were assembling piles of logs, while Olaf and Esmé stood off to the side.

“What took you so long?” Olaf barked once he saw Fernald.

“Just making sure Mrs Squalor’s things were packed up properly, boss,” he replied, not missing a beat.

“Alright,” Olaf said. Fernald was about to walk past him, when he spoke again. “Would you like to weigh in, Hooky? We’re debating which orphan we should spare. I’m thinking the girl- we’d only have to wait a few years to get the fortune if we spare her, and she is rather pretty besides.”

“I’m thinking of the baby,” Esmé added. They go with everything, and we could make her do all sorts of chores.”

Fernald really, really didn’t like the sound of either of those outcomes- even though he knew neither of them would happen, since all three Baudelaires were free. Even so, he didn’t want to have to weigh in on this discussion. He was spared from taking part, though, by a loud shout.  
  
“Police! Police!”

“Go, everyone!” Olaf yelled, before shaking his head. “Wait, wait, we’re the police.”

Fernald sighed, before following the troupe away from the bonfire.

“What’s going on?” What happened at the jail?” Ainsley asked, once Olaf and Esmé were far enough ahead.

“They got out, the Baudelaires. Last I saw them, they were opening up the Fowl Fountain to get the Quagmires out.”

“That’s good,” they replied.

“Yeah- I just hope they’re able to get out of this vile village in one piece.”

Once they reached the town square, though, it was clear that might be easier said than done. The whole village had been whipped up into a frenzy thanks to this latest development, into a full-scale angry mob, complete with torches and pitchforks. Esmé had slipped into her police chief persona, and was stirring them up even further.

“What do we do now?” Ainsley whispered, wrapping a hand around his wrist.

“I don’t know,” Fernald admitted.

“We could distract them- throw them off the scent.”

“That might be tricky- this landscape is so flat, there’s not many places they could hide. Could be worth a try, though,” he said, before turning to look to his left. There was nobody there- no Baudelaires, no Quagmires. “There! They went that way!” he yelled, pointing with one hook.

The mob ran in the direction he’d pointed. Then, they actually did see the children, and chased them all the way back to the town square, to the now-open Fowl Fountain. A motorcycle and a sidecar were parked beside the fountain, a man and woman standing beside it. Not just any man and woman, though. Larry from the Anxious Clown, and…

“Jacquelyn?” the banker asked. Why was he still here? “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Jacquelyn replied, studying the crowd. “I could ask that of all of you, actually. What is wrong with you people? What happened to having a conscience? What happened to common decency? All of you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves.”

“You stay out of this, city girl!” Olaf snapped.

“There’s no shame in being from the city,” Larry said. “Some village people come to live in cities, and vice versa. In fact, I’m seeing some familiar faces right now. How’s the book club going, Mrs. Morrow? My mothers were wondering.”

“All we read is magazines now,” replied a woman whom Fernald assumed was Mrs. Morrow. “I hate it.”

“You see?” Jacquelyn declared. “We’re not so different. Now, this was a good town, a town that stood for something. We can make it a good town again. Please, just look into your hearts and ask yourselves, what is it you really want?” There was a long pause, and then one of the Elders spoke up.

“We want to burn children!” she said, in a sweet voice, and the mob cheered.

“Tie those two up, and we’ll keep looking,” Olaf hissed, handing Fernald a rope. “Those brats can’t have gone far.”

Neither Fernald nor Ainsley put much effort into actually typing Jacquelyn or Larry together. They wound the rope around the pair a few times, and Ainsley tucked the ends in so the bonds looked a little more convincing.

“What are you doing?” Jacquelyn asked.

Before either of them could respond, though, there was another crash, and a fire-truck tore through the town towards the exit- one with a very small, yet unmistakeable driver.

“Was I imagining things,” Ainsley said, “Or was the baby driving?”

“She’s more of a toddler now,” Fernald replied, barely able to keep the pride out of his voice at the youngest Baudelaire’s accomplishments. Just then, Olaf came running up to them.

“All five orphans are escaping,” he said, bluntly. “Get the car, and your useless co-workers, and get to the town border!”

They collected Mildred, Maud and Phil, and made their way to the car.

“What’s the plan now?” Ainsley asked?

“There isn’t one,” Fernald replied.

“What?”

“There is no plan!” he snapped, turning to face them. “Do you need me to say it again? We have no plan, we have no options, other than doing what we’re told, yet again. So much for making a fucking difference for once.”

“We could still take the car,” they persisted. “Drive away right now.”

“Without Olaf?” Mildred asked.

“Or Mrs. Squalor?” added her sister.

“Yeah,” Ainsley replied.

“We can’t,” Fernald said, needing to stop this discussion now. “Not unless we’re prepared to go back to the city and face the mess we helped to leave at that auction. We can’t go through the town- these people are too riled up- all it’ll take is for one of them to notice what we’re doing, and they’ll all latch onto it. We’ll be mobbed.”

“Maybe we could pretend we’re tourists,” Phil suggested. “If we did accents, we might get away with it.”

“This isn’t a sitcom, Phil,” Fernald snapped. “We can’t just put on an accent and solve all our problems.”

“Well, we can’t just stand around here arguing, either,” Mildred cut in. “We have to make a decision, and we have to stick to it.”

“Right now, our two options are to go back to the city, or pick up Olaf and Esmé and go further into the Hinterlands. I… I think we should take that one. If we stick with this a little longer, we might be able to make a difference next time. Because from now on, I’m not gonna blindly do what I’m told any more. If the rest of you wanna do the same, that’s up to you.” He turned to walk towards the car, just as Ainsley reached out and grabbed his arm.

“I’m in,” they said simply, and they both smiled.

They arrived at the town exit just in time to see the orphans driving away in their fire-truck, while Olaf and Esmé faced off against the townspeople.

“Is that _another _mechanical device?” asked one of the Elders after he spotted the car.

“It’s not just a mechanical device!” cried Olaf. “It’s a getaway vehicle! Let’s go, Esmé!”

And so they drove off, into both the literal and figurative sunset. None of them knew quite where they were going next, and at this point Fernald wasn’t sure he particularly cared. He just hoped that, whatever happened next, he wouldn’t regret his decision to keep going- and that next time, he actually would be able to do something useful and make a difference.


	9. The Deadly Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the troupe go undercover, important discussions take place in the night, and Ainsley is pushed to their moral limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N- Apologies for taking so long to update this fic. Hopefully the Carnivorous Carnival chapter won't take nearly so long to publish! Anyway, I have to include a warning in this chapter. Several times throughout this chapter, Olaf makes disturbing and often predatory remarks about a minor, starting in the section that begins with the phrase "The next day, Olaf burst into the break room with no preamble, clapping his hands in order to wake everyone up." While I want to make it clear that his disgusting behaviour does not extend beyond these remarks, I also want to make sure that you guys are aware of them going into the chapter. I also want to make it absolutely clear that I, the author, DO NOT condone this behaviour at all, and find it abhorrent and disgusting. With that being said, don't forget to read and review this chapter, and here's hoping that the next chapter won't be quite as dark, or take as long to get here.

Chapter Nine- The Deadly Doctor

Ainsley wasn’t sure how long Esmé had been talking, and at this point they didn’t care. All they cared about was when she was planning on shutting up. Maybe when Olaf returned from the gas station store they’d stopped at.

They were sitting in the back of the car, on one side of the twins, who had fallen asleep. Fernald sat on the other side, his elbow resting on the edge of the open window. Phil sat in the front seat, next to Esmé, because he was the only one who could stand to listen to her.

“Do we still have that Tom Jones tape?” they asked. Listening to that thing had to be better than listening to Esmé recounting the time she was crowned False Spring Queen five years in a row.

“I may have got rid of that back in Crowsville,” Fernald replied, neither looking or sounding particularly guilty about it.

“Shame- it would’ve given us something else to listen to,” they said, nodding towards the front seat.

“I don’t know- at least these stories have a little more variety to them,” he replied.

They were quiet for a few more moments while Esmé rambled on. Ainsley stared out of the window, though they weren’t really seeing the store across from them, the dusty desert surroundings. They had too many other things to think about.

“What are you thinking about?” Fernald asked.

Ainsley frowned, not sure how they were supposed to answer that. They probably couldn’t say the thing that had popped into their head prior to being asked this question, which was, _Hey, look at that __blue__ van that just parked not far from us, that has the initials of that group you used to belong to, _because they weren’t sure if the others were supposed to know about Fernald’s connections to VFD. They were also pretty sure they couldn’t say the more cliché option, _I was thinking about you, obviously, _because again, that might clue Esmé into the fact they were sort of together now, and that felt like dangerous information for her to have. Instead, they went with what seemed like a safe option.

“I was just wondering where we were heading next,” they replied.

“_I _know where we’re heading next,” Esmé said, briefly pausing her self-centred rambling in order to talk to them. “We’re heading to Heimlich Hospital, so I can get my sugar bowl back. After that, I don’t know, and I don’t especially care. I just want my sugar bowl.”

Ainsley nodded, before looking over at Fernald. They waited until Esmé was back to talking rather loudly about herself before speaking.

“What’s the sugar bowl?”

“I don’t know- but coming from Esmé, it’s probably slang for something.”

Ainsley frowned, not quite sure what he meant by that. Then it hit them, and several things about Esmé Squalor fell into place.

“Well, that certainly explains a lot,” they said, just as the car door opened and Olaf got in.

“We’re going to Heimlich Hospital,” he said, eyes fixed on the blue van.

“That’s what I’ve been saying! We have to go there to get the sugar bowl!” Esmé replied.

“We’ll find more than just the sugar bowl there, dear. Now let’s follow that van!”

* * *

The plan was simple to an almost troubling degree. They were going to disguise themselves as doctors and nurses, whichever they preferred, and walk right into Heimlich Hospital through the front door, and claim to be new employees. Olaf, Phil and the twins were going to “borrow” uniforms from a van full of them. Esmé had her own costume that was much more in, and Ainsley had two options- re-use their Nurse Lucafont disguise, or use the white coat from their Professor Dalloway disguise and become Doctor Dalloway or something.

Settling for the former option, they decided to let Fernald borrow their white coat. It wasn’t the first time they’d offered it, of course, but it had meant something different then, and they knew it.

“Would you like to borrow this?” they asked, holding out the white coat. “I mean, it might be a little big, but that could be good, you know, cause the sleeves might be long enough to hide your… well, you know.”

“That’s a great idea, thanks,” Fernald replied, cutting their awkward rambling mercifully short.

* * *

There was a side entrance, which led to a changing area. It was gender neutral, and made up of several closed stalls, which was good. Ainsley, Esmé and the twins were the only ones who actually went into the stalls, though, since the others were just going to put on lab coats and a couple of other official-looking doctor things and call it a day.

Ainsley’s disguise had gotten a little crumpled since they’d last worn it, but it was more or less intact. The only things that were missing were the pink rubber gloves- which probably wouldn’t do for an actual hospital anyway- and one of the pins that the twins had given them. Quickly, they got changed, tying their apron strings and lacing up their sensible nurse shoes. There was a small can of hairspray tucked into their suitcase, just enough to style their hair the same way they’d had it last time. With their disguise now in place, they left the cubicle, and went to join Esmé and the twins.

The twins were dressed in identical white uniforms, which wasn’t too surprising. Although, Ainsley wondered if they might feel a bit mismatched standing next to them, since not only were their uniforms a different colour, the twins were wearing trousers as part of their uniforms, while Ainsley was wearing a dress.

“Do you think anyone will notice we don’t really match up?” they asked, before Esmé came out of her cubicle, and it became clear that not matching up was going to be the least of the troupe’s worries.

Esme’s disguise looked as though it had come from a fancy dress shop, one that specialised in “sexy” costumes of every variety, including nurses. The outfit was white, like the twins’ uniforms, and consisted of a short-sleeved, low-cut shirt, shorts and a cape. The only things that weren’t white were the collar of the cape, which was back, and her high heels, which were red, with silver heels.

“I’m sure nobody will notice,” Mildred said, looking from Ainsley, to Esmé, to her sister.

“We don’t look at all different,” Maud added.

* * *

They joined the others outside of the changing area, and walked back out of the side door, so they could enter the hospital properly. Ainsley was aware that Fernald was watching them, though they weren’t sure what to do with that information. Quickly, they smoothed down the apron.

“Do you still think it’s too much?” they asked, fiddling with the one pin they had left on their apron, just for something to do.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Fernald replied.

Ainsley nodded, putting their hands in the wide front pocket of their apron. By now, Olaf had reached the front door of the hospital, and Ainsley and the rest of the troupe had to hurry to catch up.

“Leave the talking to me,” Olaf instructed.

“We can both talk,” Esmé countered. “We’re a team of big-deal, snazzy doctors.”

“You’re a nurse- plus, no-one will believe you went to medical school.”

“I totally could’ve gone to medical school- I love cadavers.”

“You got your masters in theatre, and you picked the wrong costume,” Olaf pointed out. “There is no _way _they’ll believe you went to medical school.”

“Medical school?” asked a voice.

The voice belonged to a brown-haired woman who stood behind a white podium. She was dressed in white, too, and was carrying a clipboard.

“Yes!” Olaf said, slipping into a false voice. “Dr. Medical-School!” He smiled at the woman in white. “Hello, I am Dr. Mattathias Medical-School, and these are my nurses, or interns, or whatever.”

Esmé facepalmed, Ainsley pinched the bridge of their nose, Fernald and Phil groaned and even the twins winced as they all took in Olaf’s ridiculous new fake name.

“Dr. Medical-School, you say?” the woman asked, frowning down at her clipboard. “I don’t have you on my list!” She continued to flip through the pages that were attached to the clipboard. “Oh dear, oh dear, this isn’t good…” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a folded brown paper bag, and began to breath into it.

“What’s her problem?” Olaf hissed.

“I have lists for visitors and staff on my very important clipboard,” the woman said, finally. “And if you’re not on the list, you can’t come in!”

“That could be a paperwork mistake?” Fernald suggested.

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” the woman replied.

“Of course it’s a paperwork mistake!” Olaf said. “I am a doctor, see? Just look at my medical ID pass badge!” he added, waving a small, laminated piece of card in front of the woman’s face.

“Yes, yes, that does seem credible,” she replied. “Sorry to be so cautious- it’s just that, with the hospital being only half-finished, we have to be twice as careful to make sure we keep out racoons and murderers and that sort of thing.”

“That’s understandable! As I said, I am a doctor, I understand how hospitals work!”

“Well, in that case, I suppose it’s okay to say, welcome to Heimlich Hospital!” She smiled at Olaf, Esmé and the troupe. “My name’s Babs, I’m the head of human resources and hospital administration. I’m also the head of party planning.”

“Yeah, she really looks like the party planning type,” Fernald remarked, and Ainsley bit back a laugh, not wanting Babs to hear them.

“Nice to meet you, Babs!” Olaf replied. “I’m Dr. Thing That I Said Before! See you around the operating theatre!” he said, and turned to go.

“Wait a minute!” Babs called out. “You can’t go yet, you’ll need to sign and initial this form in triplicate, and the next fifteen in quadruplicate.”

“How about I _don’t _sign them, and you let me wander around anyway?” Olaf suggested.

“Well then, I’d need to call the authorities on you, mister!” Babs said, smiling. Olaf sighed, and rolled his eyes.

“Fine!” he snapped, grabbing the forms and a pen and getting to work on them.

“Thank you for understanding,” Babs said. “It’s like they say- paperwork makes the world go round!”

“I thought money did that,” Olaf countered.

* * *

After Olaf had finished with all the paperwork, he turned his attention to a sign on the wall. On one side, there was an arrow pointing to the right, and the words “Library of Records,” and on the other side, there was another arrow pointing to the left, and the words, “Other Places.”

“Library of Records,” Olaf said, heading in the direction the arrow pointed. Again, the troupe had to move quickly to keep up with him. “I bet those brats are hiding there,” he continued, stalking down the corridors. “They’re drawn to libraries like a cat to catnip, or a hobo to a dying possum.”

“Or a narcissist to the centre of attention,” Ainsley muttered, quiet enough that Olaf couldn’t hear them.

“Then the sugar bowl might be there, too!” Esmé said. “I need to check, that bowl is very, very important to me.”

“Yes, dear, I know, you’ve mentioned it several times.”

“Beatrice stole it from me, I won’t rest until it’s stolen back. And if I don’t get my hands on that sugar bowl soon, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You’re right,” Ainsley whispered to Fernald. “The sugar bowl is _definitely _slang for something.”

Olaf sighed, and walked into the library. Now, the troupe weren’t strangers to having to wait for their boss, and they were good at finding ways to fill the time by now. Ainsley wasn’t really in the mood for joining in with the word game that the others had started playing, or even pacing up and down the corridor impatiently, like Esmé was doing.

“You okay, Ainsley?” Fernald asked. “You’re a bit quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ainsley replied, nodding. They weren’t, though, not really- but they weren’t gonna outright say that.

“If I find out that stupid librarian lied to me,” Esmé hissed, walking past the troupe, “I am going to kill her if I get my hands on her.”

As she continued to walk up and down the corridor, Ainsley snapped out of their funk and really looked at her shoes for the first time.

“Are those _knives?” _they asked, pointing to her red and silver heels.

“Yes,” she replied, snapping out of her own bad mood for a moment. “It’s _very _in to be dressed to kill at the moment.” Reaching down, she pulled off one shoe so she could show everyone the small blade that was attached to the heel.

Just then, the library door opened, and Olaf came out. Quickly, Esmé put her heel back on and frowned at him.

“Well?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

“That old bat of a librarian is obviously hiding them. He could barely look me in the eyes.”

“Maybe he just has really poor eyesight?” Fernald suggested.

“Their filthy hands are all over my sugar bowl, I just know they are,” Esmé whined. “What are we going to do?”

“Plan number B,” Olaf replied.

* * *

While Olaf and Esmé worked on the next stage of the plan, the troupe went into an empty break room to wait. The break room was small, and rather cluttered, but that didn’t stop Ainsley from pacing the small stretch of floor that wasn’t taken up with furniture or filing cabinets.

There was no way they’d get away with this one, not when Olaf was going around with such a blatantly fake name. It would only be a matter of time before someone realised that “Dr. Medical-School” was obviously a pseudonym, and they’d all be thrown in jail for impersonating doctors- which, of course, was the least of their collective crimes, but that was completely beside the point.

“This is it,” they muttered, shaking their hands in worry. “This is it, this is the one. This is the one where we get arrested.” They kept repeating that first sentence, until they felt something cold on their arm.

“Ainse,” Fernald called, snapping them out of their daze. “Come on, snap out of it.”

Ainsley blinked, and looked around the small room They’d stopped pacing beside a table, where Fernald and Phil were sitting, each examining a few pieces of paper. A few feet away, the twins were making five cups of coffee in mismatched mugs.

“Sorry about that,” they muttered, slumping down in one of the free chairs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fernald replied, before passing them a couple pieces of paper. “We’re trying to work out what the weirdest, most oddly specific ward title is- do you want to weigh in?”

Ainsley nodded, and started looking through the patient list. After a minute, the twins handed the cups of coffee round, and they joined in the search.

“Okay, my favourite so far is the Accidentally Swallowed Something You Shouldn’t Have ward,” Ainsley said.

“The fact they still have a plague ward in this day and age shows great forward thinking and planning, I respect that,” Fernald added.

“I wonder how nasty a rash has to be before it qualifies for treatment at the Ward For People With Nasty Rashes,” Phil speculated.

Before the twins could weigh in with their own thoughts, the door to the break room burst open.

“Let’s go, everyone, it’s showtime!” Olaf announced. “We’re scaring Babs to death. Take your positions at the X-Ray Alcove in Colon Corridor, that will force her into the Leprosy Elevator Bank.” They all frowned at him, not sure what exactly they were meant to do. “Places, people, places!” Olaf snapped, which really didn’t clear things up.

“It’s great that you haven’t given up on the theatre,” Mildred said.

“Even though you can’t audition,” Maud added.

“Seeing that you’re dead,” Mildred finished.

“I said, places! Tonight’s production of Let’s Scare Babs To Death is about to begin, and we don’t have time to waste!”

With that, he chucked a walkie talkie to each of them, and left the room.

“You,” Esmé said, pointing a long-nailed finger at Ainsley. “Mess with the lights. You two, make plenty of noise,” she continued, pointing at Fernald and Phil. “And you two…” she sighed, looking at the twins. “Just… go be creepy, it’s what you seem best at.”

“That’s fair,” both twins said together.

Ainsley made their way to the light switches at the X-Ray Alcove. The hospital was very quiet at this time of the evening, and it was already starting to get dark. Ainsley shivered, wishing they had some sort of jacket or cardigan, as well as someone else they could talk to. They sighed, and switched on the walkie-talkie. This all seemed like such overkill, just to have control of a hospital they had no business being in to begin with.

“Lightning, go!” Olaf’s voice demanded, snapping them into action.

Ainsley flipped a few of the switches on and off a few times, which would hopefully create the desired effect. It was almost a shame they weren’t doing something like this in an actual theatre, because then it might actually be fun.

“Okay, you can stop now,” Olaf said, after about five minutes. “That goes for all three of you,” he added.

* * *

Later, they all gathered in what had once been Babs’s office- a large, mint green room with a desk covered in paperwork and several security camera monitors.

“This is Babs,” Babs stammered, as Esmé finished tying her to her chair. “Head of Human Resources, Hospital Administration and Party Planning. I just wanted to announce my unexpected, super early retirement. My replacement will begin immediately.” Esmé dragged her away from the microphone. “You’ll never get away with this,” she hissed. “The paperwork alone is beyond your capabilities!”

“Thank you, Babs!” Olaf said into the microphone, ignoring her empty threats. “You’ve certainly appreciated all my hard work over the years.” He turned to her and smiled wickedly. “Greetings, Heimlich Hospital, this is Dr. Mattathias Medical-School with an emergency news bulletin. Some murderers have been spotted in the hospital, so we will be conducting a thorough search of each and every bed until they are caught. After all, nobody wants to be murdered to death in their sleep! Good night, everyone, and sweet dreams!”

Once Olaf had switched off the intercom, he turned to the troupe.

“Search the hospital,” he instructed. “Find those orphans and bring them to me!”

“And find the sugar bowl, and bring it to me!” Esmé added.

“You go that way,” Fernald said, pointing down one corridor, “and I’ll go that way.” He pointed down the other corridor. Ainsley nodded, and hurried in the direction he’d indicated.

The hospital was even more unsettling now. It felt empty, though of course Ainsley knew there were still plenty of people in the finished half- there had to be, it was how how hospitals worked. It didn’t _feel _like there were plenty of people around, though.

As they wandered through the dark, quiet halls, they wondered what they’d actually do if they found the Baudelaires. Presumably, Olaf would see that though the security cameras, and would expect Ainsley to bring the children straight to him as soon as they found them, which really didn’t sit well, to say the least.

Finally, Ainsley decided to pull out their walkie-talkie, just for something to fill the noise with.

“Anyone there?” they asked, once they’d switched it on.

“Yeah, we’re in the Ward For People Who’ve Been Hit By A Bus,” Mildred replied.

“I think that’s another one for the _weirdly specific ward titles _list,” Ainsley said.

“Agreed,” Maud said.

“Have you seen anything yet?” they asked.

“No, but we did scare a doctor on night duty,” Mildred began.

“So at least we achieved something,” Maud finished.

Eventually, they trudged back to Babs’s office empty-handed. When the troupe arrived, though, Olaf and Esmé were in the middle of an argument.

“…I’m the one who looks _great _in a hat. So, I’m going to retrieve that sugar bowl while you sit around staring at hallways,” Esmé said.

“If you think you can do any better, then be my guest,” Olaf replied.

“Fine! I’ll just slip into something more frightening and I’ll have that sugar bowl in a jiffy.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“You haven’t seen my outfit,” Esmé countered, giving him a withering look. “Move it, losers!” she barked, shoving past the troupe, who’d gathered in the doorway.

“I liked it so much better before Yoko showed up,” Fernald muttered.

“Attention,” Olaf said into the microphone, once she was gone. “This is Dr. Mattathias Medical-School. Bed searches will continue until the murderers have been found.”

“Also, if anyone in the hospital has any valuables of any kind,” Mildred said, grabbing the microphone.

“Please bring them to the human resources office immediately,” Maud added, grabbing the microphone from her sister.

“Thank you,” they said together.

* * *

Finally, Olaf let them return to the break room, and get some rest. The twins occupied one pair of bunk beds, Fernald and Phil took another pair, and Ainsley got the third one. They untied their apron, kicked off their sensible shoes and brushed the hairspray out of their hair, and tried to get to sleep.

After about ten minutes or so, though, they gave up, and decided to go for a walk. Putting their shoes and their glasses back on, they grabbed a red cardigan which had been hanging up on a coat rack covered in lab coats, and left the room.

Fortunately, the break room wasn’t far from a small kitchen area, which was marked “Staff Only.” Ainsley decided to make a cup of tea, since it was too late for coffee, then go back to bed.

Once they’d finished making the tea, they sat down at the round, Formica-topped table to drink it. They wished they’d brought their Walkman, so they could listen to music, but alas, it was still in their suitcase, which was still in the car. Instead, they settled for humming one of the tunes that had been on their Black Cat tape, an old, lonely tune that at least killed the silence a little bit.

“I didn’t think you were the jazzy type,” a voice spoke up. Ainsley looked up from their tea, and smiled when they saw Fernald at the entrance of the kitchen area.

“That’s the thing about me, I’m a person of mystery,” they replied. “So was the person I tend to associate that tune with, come to think of it.”

Fernald nodded, and entered the kitchen. He awkwardly nudged a chair out from the table, and took a seat.

“Should you be drinking that this late at night?” he asked, nodding towards Ainsley’s mug.

“It’s not coffee- it should be fine,” they replied. “Do you want anything to drink, or-”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” he said, and held up his arms- which was when Ainsley noticed that his hooks were missing, along with the wrist coverings they were usually attached to.

“I see,” Ainsley said.

They’d never seen Fernald’s wrists without any sort of covering before, and they weren’t entirely sure how to respond. Should they make any sort of thing about it, or would that be considered in poor taste?

“I got the hooks in this hospital, you know,” he said, after a moment. “After Anwhistle Aquatics burned down, I came here to get what was left of my hands removed, and the hooks took their place.”

“Did it…” Ainsley began, searching for the right words. “Did it hurt?”

“The injury did, but the actual surgery didn’t, fortunately.” He paused, shaking his head slightly. “Of course, until today, I don’t think I really appreciated how lucky I was to get actual, credible doctors to do the deed, though, rather than someone like our good friend Dr. Medical-School.”

“It really doesn’t get any less ridiculous-sounding, does it?” Ainsley replied, smiling.

“Not at all. And there were so many better, not terrible aliases he could’ve gone with, too, like, I don’t know, Dr. Howser, or something.”

“I’d be a lot more convinced by someone called Dr. Howser, I will admit,” Ainsley agreed. “Our pseudonyms sound more legit, and they’re just anagrams of Count Olaf.”

“Which is also a shame, I bet we could’ve come up with good pseudonyms on our own.”

“I wouldn’t have minded going by Nurse Cartwright,” Ainsley said, referring to a character from the old detective show they enjoyed.

“Or Doctor Watson,” Fernald suggested.

“See, we should be put in charge of the fake names next time, we could do way better than Olaf.”

Later, Ainsley would think of that conversation as the last bright moment in their time at Heimlich Hospital. For now, though, as they returned to the break room and finally fell asleep, their only thought was, sometimes being part of this terrible troupe wasn’t so terrible after all.

* * *

The next day, Olaf burst into the break room with no preamble, clapping his hands in order to wake everyone up.

“What’s going on?” Ainsley asked, reaching for their glasses.

“We’ve caught one of the Baudelaires!” Olaf exclaimed. “My dear little Countess is finally back in my clutches!” He left the room, laughing at his own success.

“What the fuck,” Ainsley said, once he’d gone.

“I have a really, really bad feeling about this- we’ve gotta get that kid out of there before it’s too late,” Fernald added.

Quickly, they followed Olaf to a locked door, outside which Esmé was standing. She was holding a hospital gown, and glaring at Olaf.

“What’s happening?” Fernald asked, once the troupe joined the unhappy couple.

“I was going to prep our new captive for the surgery we were planning, but Esmé won’t let me.”

“Technically, the surgery idea was only a suggestion,” Esmé pointed out. “I mean, it’s a bloody good one, granted, but still.” She shook her head. “And forgive me if I don’t think letting you undressing a teenage girl is a good idea, but somebody needs to keep you in some kind of check.”

“Okay, can someone please explain what’s actually going on, and what the plan is?” Phil asked.

“Fine,” Esmé said. “Last night, I caught the three Baudelaire brats watching some old film or other in the Library of Records, and managed to capture Violet. Unfortunately, I lost the sugar bowl, but at least I know the other two have it, so that’s a start. Anyway, now we’re going to stage an operation, during which Violet will tragically die, and if all goes well, we’ll be able to make the other two responsible for it.”

“_What?” _Ainsley asked, before they could think better of it.

“It’s a wonderful plan, isn’t it?” Esmé replied, clapping her hands. “Only thing is, _someone _wants to make sure she looks as convincing as possible, as a fake hospital patient.” She held up the gown. “And I’ve been trying to prove that isn’t necessary, that if they’re fooled by a name like Dr. Medical-School then they’ll be fooled by anything.”

“Maybe,” Fernald suggested, “maybe you could come to a compromise? Maybe if she just puts the gown on over her clothes, then it can look like she’s a patient, and nobody will notice?” They all nodded, agreeing that this was a good idea.

“That works for me,” Esmé agreed. “What do you think, darling?”

“Fine,” Olaf grumbled. “But we’re knocking her out till it’s time for the surgery- we can’t have her running off and causing problems.”

Sending the twins to go hunt down the anaesthesia machine, the others went into the room where Violet was being held. It was empty apart from a gurney and a small chest, which had a book resting on top of it.

“Put this on over your clothes,” Ainsley instructed, releasing her wrists, which were handcuffed to the gurney, to allow her to do so.

“You’ll never get away with this- Klaus and Sunny will find me!”

“That is the desired outcome,” Olaf said. “You know, I wouldn’t worry too much about them- or about much else, for that matter. All your troubles will be over before you know it.”

Just then, the door opened, and the twins wheeled the anaesthesia machine into the small room.

“We found the anaesthesia machine!” Mildred announced.

“This makes me see coloured bubbles!” Maud added, taking a huff of the anaesthesia gas.

“Give me that,” Esmé snapped, grabbing the mask from Maud’s hand and wheeling the machine closer to Violet’s gurney. “Drugs are very bad for you, you know, even of they’re just in the form of knockout gas.”

With that, she clamped the mask down on Violet’s face, pushing her to lie down on the gurney again.

“What… what are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” Esmé replied, flipping a couple of switches on the machine. “Now, just relax, and count backwards from ten.”

Once the gas had taken effect, Olaf instructed the twins to look for Klaus and Sunny, and told Fernald and Phil to look for suitably sharp and scary-looking equipment for the operation.

“I’m going to look for my sugar bowl,” Esmé said. “You stay here and watch the girl. Make sure she doesn’t wake up.” Then she walked out of the room, leaving Ainsley alone with Count Olaf and an unconscious Violet.

“She is a pretty thing, isn’t she?” Olaf asked, once his girlfriend was gone.

“I wouldn’t say so, no,” Ainsley replied. Normally, they would be too afraid to speak up like this, but they couldn’t just let a comment like that stand.

“Let me guess,” Olaf groaned. “Reducing a woman’s value to her physical appearance is inherently misogynistic and demeaning,” he said, in a monotone. “God, you’re exhausting to work with.”

He turned his attention back to Violet, running a hand through her long, dark hair. Ainsley knew they had to speak up again, even if the thought was terrifying._ This isn’t about me, though,_ they thought._ This isn’t about me or what I’m afraid of. This is about protecting that kid before any more awful things happen to her._

If they were being totally honest, a part of them wanted to just punch Olaf in the face, in the hopes that this might knock him out. It was too risky, though- for one thing, Ainsley doubted they were strong enough to knock anyone out that easily. For another, attempting to do that would probably just make him angry, which seemed dangerous. No, they’d need to try a different tack, and fast.

“Have you decided which operating theatre you’re gonna use for your event?” they asked.

Olaf straightened up and turned to face them. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s at least three operating theatres in the finished half of the hospital- you should make sure you’re using the best one, you know, for the performance.”

“You know, I haven’t thought about that,” he admitted. “It’s been so long since I was able to truly put on a theatrical event, I’ve forgotten the importance of good staging.”

“Good thing you have us then, to remind you of the important things in life,” they replied, faking a smile.

“I’m going to inspect these theatres, see which one will have the right… ambivalence, or whatever.”

“You mean ambience?”

“That’s what I said, ambience.”

As soon as he’d left the room and disappeared down the corridor, Ainsley hurried over to Violet’s gurney.

“Okay,” they muttered, examining the anaesthesia machine. “Okay, how do I switch this thing off?”

There were a lot of buttons and switches, it was hard to know which ones would stop the flow of the gas, or if any would just make things worse. After a minute, they decided to take a more direct approach, and pulled off the mask. Now they just had to wake Violet up and get her out of there.

“Come on,” Ainsley muttered, gently shaking her shoulders. “Come on, kid, work with me here.” She didn’t stir. Before Ainsley could try again, they heard footsteps in the corridor, approaching the room. “Shit,” they muttered.

They reattached the mask, painfully aware that this had probably been their only chance to prevent what was about to happen. Quickly, they went back to standing against the wall, and even grabbed the book that had been sitting on the chest, opening it to a random page so it would look as though they’d been reading it the whole time.

“Come on,” Olaf said, poking his head in the door. “It’s time to lose our first patient.”

The operating theatre Olaf had chosen was a large, round, grey room. In the middle of the room was a slightly raised round stage, surrounded by rows of tiered seats. Those seats were already filling up with doctors, nurses and members of the Volunteers Fighting Disease organisation- as well as a few ordinary people who didn’t seem to fir into either category.

The troupe stood in one of the front rows. Ainsley stood in between Fernald and the twins, and looked down at the grimy grey floor, studying their shoes.

“Did something happen?” Fernald asked. They nodded, and quickly filled him in on what had happened. “That’s not good,” he said, when they were done.

“Yeah, not especially,” Ainsley muttered.

Just then Esmé came in, bringing a very young, very plump doctor into the operating theatre with her. Ainsley frowned at him for a moment, trying to work out where they’d seen him before, until they finally connected the dots and realised that this must be Klaus in disguise.

“There you are, Dr. Faustus!” Olaf announced, from his position at the top of the steps across from Klaus and Esmé. “I’ve been eagerly awaiting you, as has our little sleeping beauty here.”

Ainsley shoved their hands in their apron pocket, so nobody would see that they were clenched into fists.

“Well, hurry along, Dr. Faustus,” Olaf continued. “The anaesthesia won’t last forever.”

Esmé handed him a long, sharp knife, and firmly shoved Klaus forward. He stumbled over to the stage, and to the gurney where his sister was lying.

“Doctors, nurses, Volunteers Fighting Disease, gore fans, regular people!” Olaf announced. “Welcome to the operating theatre of Heimlich Hospital! I am Dr. Mattathias Medical-School, and these are my associates.” he gestured to the troupe, who introduced themselves one by one.

“Dr. Tocuna,” Phil said.

“Nurse Flo,” Mildred said.

“Nurse Glo,” Maud said.

“Nurse Cartwright,” Ainsley said, shooting a glance in Olaf’s direction, all but daring him to say anything.

“Dr. Watson,” Fernald finished.

“And I am Nurse Cassandra Ursula Terrific Elliandra-” Esmé began.

“And of course,” Olaf said, cutting her off, “how could we forget the man who will be performing the operation, the marvellous Dr. Faustus?” Now, he pointed to Klaus. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, a cranioectomy is a process in which the patient’s head is removed.”

Esmé wheeled out a large board with a diagram of a head on it. Ainsley frowned, and removed one of their hands from their pocket and wrapped it around Fernald’s wrist. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

“Scientists have discovered that many problems are rooted in the branial area,” Olaf continued. “So, the best thing to do for the patient is remove the head altogether. Now, a cranioectomy is as dangerous as it is necessary. There is a chance that the patient may tragically die during the operation, leaving their enormous fortune up for grabs. But sometimes we make sacrifices in the name of advancement. Isn't that so, Dr. Faustus?”

“Of course, Dr. Medical-School,” Klaus said, in a fake British accent. “However, before I make the first incision, I think I should talk a little bit about the equipment I’m using.”

“Is he…” Ainsley whispered. “Is he infodumping as a stall tactic?”

“I think so, yeah,” Fernald replied. “Hopefully he knows enough about knives to pull that off.”

“This is a knife,” Klaus explained, holding up the weapon he carried.

“We know it’s a knife, now let’s see you use it!” Olaf snapped.

“Any real doctor would never perform a procedure without explaining everything first- and we are both real doctors, aren't we?”

“Fine, just keep it short.”

“Now,” Klaus said, addressing the audience. “The knife is the oldest surgical tool in the world. Early knives have been found in Mayan tombs, Egyptian temples. There are many different types of knife, which I'm going to list for you now. There's the pen knife, the pocket knife, the butter knife…” While he spoke, he leaned back against Violet’s gurney, close to the anaesthesia equipment which was still beside it.

“What a lengthy explanation, but it’s time for the main event,” Olaf interrupted.

“Yes, all these lovely people will understand the process better once the head has been removed,” Esmé added.

“Yeah, cut off her head!” shouted one of the Volunteers, a blonde woman who seemed way too enthusiastic about what was going on. “Do it, do it, do it!” she started chanting.

Around her, the other volunteers and hospital staff quickly took up the chant, and started clapping their hands in time with their chanting. Mildred and Maud started clapping too, until Ainsley reached over and tapped their hands.

“Guys, stop that,” they whispered, then tugged on Fernald’s sleeve. “Okay, what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Wait!” Klaus shouted, cutting through the chanting crowds. “I… I cannot perform this operation!”

“And why not?” Olaf asked, shaking his head at the boy.

“There is one thing left to be done, the most important thing we do here at Heimlich Hospital.”

“And what might that be?” Olaf snapped.

“Paperwork,” Klaus stated. “We haven’t done the paperwork!”

“Somebody call Hal, he’ll get the paperwork we need!” a nurse called out.

“I will! I’ll go get him right now!” the blonde volunteer replied, with the same level of enthusiasm as she’d shown for the beheading.

“Just a brief pause, ladies and gentlemen, a minor interruption!” Olaf announced, as the volunteer left to go track down Hal.

“Okay, seriously, what are we going to do?” Ainsley asked, noticing that Olaf and Esmé were distracted with talking to Klaus.

“We might not need to do anything,” Phil pointed out, gesturing to the stage. Ainsley looked to where he was pointing, and saw that Violet was starting to stir on the gurney.

“Depending on how this conversation goes, they might get out of there okay,” Fernald added.

“We’re making a lot of assumptions about their luck here,” Ainsley pointed out.

“Well, if Sunny can drive a fire-truck, I’d think anything was possible at this point,” Fernald countered.

Meanwhile, over on the stage, Klaus had handed something small and round to Esmé. Ainsley wondered if this was the sugar bowl that Esmé had been hunting so desperately for, and if this meant that she would finally shut up about the stupid thing.

“I finally have it!” she cried, holding it up. From where they were, Ainsley could see that it did not look much like any kind of bowl, and actually looked more like a video file. “Wait, wait, this isn’t the sugar bowl!” she said.

“No, it’s much better than that!” Olaf replied, taking the file off her. “It’s the Snicket file!” He shoved the round video file into his pocket.

“Alright, now let Violet go,” Klaus said, abandoning his British accent. Olaf shook his head, and turned to address the crowds again.

“It has come to my attention that this man is an impostor!” he announced. “He is not a doctor at all, he’s two children, neither of which have graduated from medical school!” He yanked open Klaus’s white coat, revealing that he’d tied Sunny to his front and hidden her beneath the coat.

“Oh my gosh!” someone shouted. “It’s those Baudelaire murderers, from the Daily Punctillio!”

“We’re not murderers!” Klaus protested. “These people are the real criminals- they disguised my sister, so they could chop her head off!”

“They did _what?” _Violet asked, finally sitting up.

“Those are rather bold claims coming from the person holding the sharp knife,” Esmé said, looking pointedly at the blade in Klaus’s hand.

Just then, the door opened, and a very old man wearing very small glasses came into the room.

“Are those the Baudelaires?” he asked. “I’m afraid I can’t see very well.”  
  
“I think so!” replied the blonde volunteer, who was accompanying him. “I don’t know for sure, though, cause I don’t read the Daily Punctillio, but if everyone else says they are, then they’re probably right.”

“We’re glad to see you, Hal,” Klaus said.

“I would say I was glad to see you too, but that would be a lie- both because I can’t really see you, and because I’m not especially glad. I was sure that you would’ve snuck away after your prolonged and treacherous vandalism- which frankly, you should be a lot more ashamed about than you sound.”

“Vandalism?” another volunteer, this one a ginger man with a beard, asked. “That’s terrible!”

“It was terrible,” Hal agreed. “These three Baudelaire murderers pretended to be volunteers, made a fake key ring and switched it for the real one, so that they could break into the Library of Records and destroy any files about their crimes.” He looked in the general direction of the children. “I thought you were my friends!”

“We didn't mean to destroy anything,” Klaus said. “Look, I'm sorry we tricked you, and I am so sorry about your library, but we're not the real criminals here. The real criminals are…” he looked around, which was when it occurred to Ainsley that at some point during all of this Olaf had disappeared. “Where's Count Olaf?”

“Attention!” announced a voice on the intercom. “This is Dr. Mattathias Medical School, with some very important news. A terrible fire has broken out in the Heimlich Hospital. The fire was set in the Library of Records by the Baudelaire murderers. Please arrest them and bring them to me!” there was a brief pause, and Ainsley wondered if that was the end of the announcement. “Oh, and you might want to evacuate the building, or move the patients or something,” Olaf added, almost as an afterthought. “Thank you!”

“We couldn’t have started that fire, we’ve been in this theatre the whole time!” Klaus tried to reason.

“Surround them!” shouted a doctor, who was also standing in the front row.

“Yeah! Let’s capture those Baudelaires!” cheered the blonde volunteer. Briefly, Ainsley wondered what she was smoking that made her so cheerful about everything, before forcing their mind to focus on the issue at hand.

“We’ll perform surgery on all three of you!” Maud declared.

“Can you two please be normal for just five minutes?” Ainsley snapped.

“They should be sent to prison, anyway!” Hal added. “Or at least a juvenile detention centre, until they come of age.”

“Technically the general view is that the baby did the murdering, and she’s not at the age of criminal responsibility yet, so by that logic they should be let off with the murder charges at least,” Ainsley pointed out.

“Not helping, Ainse,” Fernald said.

By now, Sunny was also sitting on the gurney, and Klaus was standing behind it, ready to push his sisters out of the operating theatre.

“Stop them!” shouted the blonde volunteer. Hal grabbed hold of the gurney, effectively stopping it in its tracks.

“Hal, please,” Klaus said.

“You destroyed my library!” Hal countered. Then Sunny must’ve reached forward and bit his hand, because he jerked back suddenly. “The baby bit me!” he hissed.

Klaus shoved open the doors, and ran out of the room, pushing the gurney ahead of him. Quickly, the troupe, the volunteers and the actual hospital staff ran after them.

“This is like PE class all over again,” Ainsley sighed, as they followed the gurney through the halls.

Eventually, they reached a staircase, leading down to the Ward For People With Nasty Rashes, and caught sight of the Baudelaire gurney racing down the stairs, coming to a halt just outside the ward’s entrance. Ainsley looked around, realising with a jolt that they’d been separated from the others somewhere along the line, and they couldn’t see them anywhere. The only people they could see, much to their irritation, was a few of the Volunteers Fighting Disease, heading their way.

Quickly, they made their way down the stairs, and pulled open the door to the ward. The Baudelaires were nowhere in sight, though Ainsley had a feeling they knew where they’d gone, as they’d spotted the door handle of one of the supply cupboards turning just as they’d entered the corridor.

Ainsley approached the door, just as the Volunteers came into the corridor and skipped over to them.

“Hey, uh, sibling?” the bearded volunteer said, a little awkwardly, but no less cheerfully. “Are the murderers in there?” Ainsley nodded. “Well, let’s bring them out!” he said. Ainsley rolled their eyes, and started knocking on the door.

“Open up in there!” they said.

“No!” Klaus replied, like he couldn’t believe that Ainsley would ask something like that, and expect it to work.

“Please?” they tried, but got no response. “Well, at least I tried, and they probably won’t escape what with the fire and everything, so, let’s go before we end up in the same position.” They turned to go, but the blonde volunteer shook her head, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the wall.

“We can’t give up so fast!” she countered, handing the extinguisher to Ainsley. “Come on, let’s get those murderers!”

“Yeah, then we can get into the Daily Punctillio, and everyone else can read about us!” the bearded volunteer added.

“Okay,” Ainsley said. “Quick question, which of you is in charge?” The bearded volunteer laughed.

“No, no, sibling, we at the Volunteers Fighting Disease don’t really believe in having a _leader._”

“Whatever. In that case, you-” They pointed at the bearded volunteer. “Take this anarcho-syndicalist commune and get the hell out of this hospital, while you still can.”

“But that means we’re leaving you alone with these murderers!” the blonde volunteer pointed out.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve dealt with them before- I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, if you’re sure!” said the bearded volunteer. “Let’s go, folks! We can sing as we go, to cheer up anyone who’s still here!” With that, the group skipped away and left the ward.

Once they were gone, Ainsley started breaking down the door. They wanted to use another way to get it open, but because they didn’t have the tools or the knowledge to pick a lock, they had to settle for more direct means.

Eventually, they made a hole in the door, and got it open, just as the three Baudelaires leapt from the window. Quickly, Ainsley made their way to the window, and saw that the children had fashioned some kind of bungee cord and used that to jump from the window. They landed safely on the ground, and broke the cord, which came flying back up to the window, smacking Ainsley in the face.

“Ow!” they muttered, rubbing their cheek. “That really stung.”

* * *

After improvising a quick ice pack for their face, Ainsley quickly exited the storage cupboard, and left the ward. As soon as they closed the door of the ward entrance, they realised they had a problem. The fire had gotten much stronger in the time that they’d been in the ward, and the staircase above and below them was now covered in smoke.

Ainsley tried to think, to work out where the nearest exit was. They had to get out of this horrible, hostile hospital before it completely collapsed. First, they had to get to the top of the stairs. Moving quickly, they tried to remember everything they’d learned about the hospital layout during their searches yesterday, but it was no good- it was like the smoke was creeping into their head, blocking out their memories of the hospital.

Remembering something they’d heard about surviving fires, Ainsley slid down to sit on the floor, where they knew there was supposed to be more oxygen, and tried to think. If they went down the hall to the left and then took a right, that would take them back to the operating theatre. And the operating theatre had to be near Babs’s office, because Olaf must’ve gotten there quickly in order to make that announcement about the fire- and Babs’s office had been near the hospital’s main entrance. So, they just had to get to the operating theatre, and they could probably figure out the rest from there.

The journey back to the operating theatre and out of the hospital were both something of a blur. It was all Ainsley could do to focus on keeping their breathing regular, and trying not to take too much of the smoke in, and on putting one foot in front of the other. They didn’t have the mental energy to concentrate on anything else.

Finally, they reached the main entrance of the hospital. For a moment, they leaned heavily against the wall, covering their mouth with their free hand and coughing a few times. When their coughing fit ended, they heard Olaf’s voice calling out through the fog.

“Get in the car this instant!” he barked. “I’m leaving on the count of three!”

“We can’t leave without Ainsley!” Fernald replied.

“We can and we will, if they don’t get here in the next three seconds. One!”

Quickly, Ainsley ran over to the car. Everyone was already inside, apart from Fernald, who was standing just outside the car, tapping his hook on the roof.

“There you are,” he said when he spotted Ainsley, ushering them into the back seat of the car.

Once Ainsley had settled in the back of the car, Mildred nudged them in the arm.

“You worried us for a moment, whippersnapper,” she said, and Maud nodded in agreement.

With everybody now in the car, Olaf drove away from the hospital. As they got further and further from the hospital, Ainsley tried to get comfortable in the small space in the back seat. They leaned their head against the cool window, and eventually zoned out. They didn’t know where they’d end up next, and decided that they didn’t particularly care. After all, it could not possibly be worse than the situation they were leaving behind, whatever it was.


	10. The False Fortune-Teller- Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, just like with Vile Village, I've had to split this chapter into two parts. It's a slightly less clean break this time, though, as this chapter doesn't end where the end of the first episode does.

Chapter Ten: The False Fortune-Teller- Part One

After nearly two hours of driving, the troupe pulled up outside a gas station. There was another Last Chance General Store attached to it, which seemed a bit ironic. They all piled out of the car, including Ainsley, who had spent most of the last two hours asleep in the back seat.

“We don’t have long,” Olaf said. “Do whatever you need to do, and do it quickly- we won’t be stopping again.” With that made clear, he stomped into the shop without a backward glance.

“Get my suitcases, Hooky- I’m going to see if this place has the latest Daily Punctilio. I feel so out of the loop right now, it’s tragic,” Esmé added, following him into the store.

“What do you think would happen if we just got back into the car and drove off?” Ainsley asked.

Fernald turned to face them. This was the first time he’d had a chance to properly look at Ainsley since they’d left the hospital, and they had definitely looked better. Their hair was a mess, there was a faint red mark on their cheek and their apron and shoes were no longer clean and white. But they were alive, and seemed to be back to their old self, and that was all that mattered.

“Looks like Ainsley’s back, then,” Phil said. Ainsley rolled their eyes.

“I was just sleeping off smoke inhalation, it’s not like I was comatose.”

“Still, I’m glad you’re okay,” Fernald replied. “I mean, we’re… we’re glad- not that I’m not glad, I just mean-”

“I get it,” they said. “So, what would happen if we just got back in and drove off?”

“We can’t do that,” Phil pointed out, tugging on the door handle. “He locked the doors and took the keys.”

“It was worth a shot,” they muttered. “Wait- if the doors are locked, how are we meant to get our cases?”

“The trunk should be open,” Fernald replied. “You guys head in, I’ll get the cases.”

The twins and Phil went into the shop, but Ainsley lingered outside for a moment.

“Are you okay, Ainse?” he asked. They nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” They turned to go into the shop, pausing a moment before opening the door. “Thanks for making Olaf wait. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d come out and found you guys were gone.”

“It wouldn’t have come to that,” Fernald replied. “Even if he’d driven away and taken the others with him, I’d have stayed.”

“Thanks,” they said, after a pause. “I… I appreciate that.” Then they opened the door and went into the shop.

Fernald smiled, then pulled open the trunk. He expected to see several suitcases, the ancient carpet bag that belonged to the twins, a couple boxes of wine and various other items. That stuff was in there, of course- as were a certain trio of terrified orphans.

“Are you three insane?” he hissed. They were shaking, staring up at him with matching fearful expressions. “I’m not going to tell the boss- just, stay quiet, okay?”

They all nodded, and Fernald grabbed the twins’ carpet bag, Ainsley’s red suitcase and Esmé’s monogrammed black one. Then he shut the door, and headed into the shop.

* * *

Esmé was hogging the disabled toilet, claiming that she would need more space to get changed once “Hooky” brought the bags in.

Ainsley wasn’t really sure what they should do in the meantime, so they settled for wandering around the shop. It seemed to have a little of everything- biscuits and books, pencils and plastic ponies, knick-knacks of every description. There were postcards for various Hinterlands landmarks- including the hospital, which seemed odd.

“What are you doing out here?” a familiar voice asked.

Setting down the postcard they were holding, Ainsley turned to look at Fernald. They smiled when they saw him, trying to smooth down their hair. It was a mess, they knew it was a mess, but they wanted to do something about it.

“Esmé's in the disabled bathroom,” they explained. “And that’s the closest thing this place has to a gender neutral bathroom, so I’m waiting for her to come out.”

“That could be a while,” he pointed out. “I’ll go talk to her, give her and the twins their stuff. In the meantime, could you do me a favour?”

“Sure,” they replied.

“It seems we’ve got a few hitch-hikers- a biting toddler, a boy with glasses and a teenage girl with long, dark hair.”

“I see,” they replied, not sure what else to say.

“So, while I’m speaking to Esmé and the twins, could you go out to the car and bring them some food and stuff.”

“Alright,” they replied. They reached into the front pocket of their apron and pulled out their hairbrush. “Could you hold onto this for me?” He nodded, and Ainsley handed him the brush.

Scanning the shelves, they grabbed a couple of sandwiches, a bottle of water, a bar of chocolate, another hairbrush and a purple scrunchie, and shoved them all into their wide apron pocket.

They left the shop, and headed out to the car. The trunk opened easily enough- the lock must be damaged or something. The children were all shaking as they looked up at Ainsley. One of them had wrapped a doctor’s coat around Sunny, either to keep her warm or try and hide her, they didn’t know.

“It’s alright- there’s nobody else out here,” they said.

“How… how do we know we can trust you?” Violet asked quietly.

“You work for Count Olaf,” Klaus added.

“Nurse Lucafont!” Sunny added.

“You’re right- we’ve not given any of you any reasons to trust us. We’ve all let too many awful things happen to all three of you, but that ends now. I won’t blame any of you if you don’t believe us, but it’s true.”

None of the Baudelaires said anything. Ainsley sighed, and untied their apron, folding it and handing it over.

“Take this- there’s food and stuff in there. I won’t tell anyone else that you’re here,” they said, and carefully closed the door of the trunk.

* * *

Once they were all changed, they gathered in front of the large takeaway coffee maker.

“I’m going to check if this offers strawberry macchiatos,” Esmé said, tapping the screen with a long black fingernail. “That’s the latest In drink.”

“What happened to parsley soda?” Phil asked.

“Oh, that’s been Out for a while,” she replied. “I don’t know why, but it didn’t stay In for very long.”

“It’s truly a mystery,” Fernald replied.

“Truly.” She glanced at the screen and smiled. “They do have them. Seven strawberry macchiatos, then?” she asked.

“Could we just have tea, Mrs. Squalor?” asked the twins.

“And could I just have a regular white coffee?” Ainsley asked. Esmé shook her head.

“Now you’re just trying to piss me off on purpose,” she snapped. “It is bad enough that I have to constantly be surrounded by such unfashionable company without you constantly reminding me off that fact.”

“I’m not trying to do anything, except perhaps remind you that there’s seven people here, not just you, and you can’t force us to do something just because you say so.”

“Of course I can,” she said, then pulled out a paper takeaway cup, placed it in the machine and pressed the button. Once the drink was finished, she attached a lid and handed it to Ainsley, with a smile that said, _I win this round._

* * *

Finally, it was time to get back in the car and leave. With their luggage under their seat, Ainsley wound up sitting in the front between Olaf and Esmé. Once, they’d have been terrified of doing this. But after everything that had happened at Heimlich, they found they weren’t so afraid.

“Darling, could you check the map so we can start heading to the carnival?” Olaf asked, passing a folded map to Esmé.

“I can’t check it- Geography is the least In social science at the moment, and besides, I might get a paper cut. You check it,” she replied.

“I can’t check it, I’m supposed to be driving!”

“Well, I can’t check it, I’m-”

“I’ll check it,” Ainsley said, taking the map and having a look at it. “According to this if we just keep going straight ahead, we’ll reach the carnival.”

“Alright,” Olaf said, starting to drive away from the shop.

“Actually, all the places we’ve visited so far were on the same road, that runs in a straight line through the Hinterlands,” they observed, tucking the map inside their jacket in case it came in handy later. “The rest of the territory on the map is more or less unmarked.” They paused for a moment, a thought occurring to them. “That’s kind of an interesting metaphor for life when you think about it, since many of us are placed onto a clearly defined path that we must follow if we don’t want to get lost, outside of which lie infinite, unexplored possibilities.”

“Are you quite finished?” Esmé asked. “Or do you have any more philosophical nonsense you want to share?”

“It’s not philosophical nonsense,” they replied.

Esmé just sighed and stared out the window. Olaf rolled his eyes, and stepped on the gas.

* * *

The car was now tearing through the Hinterlands at a speed that felt dangerous. Olaf seemed far beyond the point of caring, though, which was far more worrying than the actual speed.

“Darling, don’t you think you ought to slow down?” Esmé asked.

“You know, it’s bad enough that the Baudelaire orphans escaped my clutches,” Olaf said, as though she hadn’t spoken. “Now it seems that one of their parents may still be alive! Do you know what it’s like to have your life spin out of control, as if driven by the cruel whims of some unpredictable madman?!”

“I can’t imagine that at all!” Fernald replied.

“You think you have problems?” Esmé asked. “I am never going to find the sugar bowl in the Hinterlands! I’m as miserable as those starving lions we just passed.”

“Let’s hope that Madame Lulu can turn things around, or I might just drive this car off a cliff!”

“Maybe wine will help us relax?” Mildred suggested.

“Yes, Olaf, let’s get that fruity Merlot from the trunk!” Maud added. Fernald shot a glance at the twins, then at the front row.

“Drinking _and _driving?” Olaf asked. “Are you two insane? That’s incredibly reckless!” He paused. “Then again, I am parched. But it can wait. If this Madame Lulu is real, we’ll hunt down the surviving Baudelaires and we’ll celebrate with all the trunk wine we want!” He laughed. “My spirits are lifting already!”

* * *

Finally, they reached the carnival. They all got out of the car and had a look around. There was a small cluster of tents and caravans, a broken down roller-coaster, a phone booth and that was about it.

“This carnival doesn’t look very In,” Esmé observed. “A rusty roller-coaster and a bunch of tents.”

“Are you sure we’re safe here?” Fernald asked. “I mean, if the police come, there won’t be any place to hide.”

“Why do we have to hide? No-one comes looking for a dead man- and the Daily Punctilio just printed my obituary on the front page,” Olaf said, holding out a copy of the newspaper.

“Surprisingly Low Turnout…” Ainsley read out loud, but Olaf dropped it before they could finish reading it.

“We have to stay long enough for Madame Lulu to answer our questions,” Olaf said. “About the surviving Baudelaires, where they’re hiding, and where we can find the sugar bowl.”

“Why would we believe some woman who lives in a tent?” Esmé asked.

“Not just any tent- look,” Olaf replied, pointing to one of the larger tents, which had a stylised picture of an eye on it- the same eye which decorated Olaf’s, Fernald’s, and many other people's ankles. “It’s a sign that we’re on the right path.”

“It might not be-” Ainsley began, as they all walked to the tent.

“Not a good time, Ainse,” Fernald replied.

They entered the tent, pushing past a long, beaded curtain, and were greeted by a woman with long, curly, dark brown hair, dressed in a glittering purple gown.

“Welcome,” she said, in an accent that couldn't possibly be real. “Welcome to Caligari Carnival- Madame Lulu has been expecting you.”

“You’ve been expecting us?” Olaf asked.

“I have vision I receive visit from handsome stranger.”

“And his girlfriend?” Esmé cut in.

“No, she not in vision.” She turned to address the troupe. “Now, who would like fortune from fortune teller first, please?”

“Me, me!” Mildred cried. “I get to go first, I’m the oldest!”

“I’m older!” Maud countered.

“I’m younger, but I have more experience,” Fernald added.

“The concept of _first _seems to be problematically centred around patriarchy,” Ainsley observed.

“There is no need for such fighting- I read fortune for all at one reasonable group rate.” She pointed at Phil. “You, you have experienced great loss!”

“It’s true- I’ve lost my hair!”

“Your sister, she depend upon you,” Lulu continued, pointing to the twins.

“How did she know?” both said in unison.

“You…” she trailed off, pointing to Ainsley. “I don’t know, there’s just a lot going on there.”

“That’s fair,” they replied, nodding.

“Your sister, she depend upon _you,” _Lulu informed Fernald, who blinked at her in confusion.

“My… my sister?” he asked. Lulu didn’t elaborate, though, instead she turned her attention to Esmé.

“You are not real blonde.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“That’s an amusing party trick, Lulu,” Olaf said, clapping his hands slowly. “But any two-bit grifter could guess those things. Tell me something only a _real_ fortune teller would know.”

Lulu took a deep breath, raising her eyes to the ceiling before closing them. A gust of wind blew through the tent, and they all jumped, Ainsley resting a hand on Fernald’s shoulder

“I know that you were brought here by a series of unfortunate events. You adopted three orphans, one of whom you tried to marry, till she literally and figuratively escaped your grasp. You followed them to the home of a herpetologist who you mostly fooled, then eventually killed.

“How do you…” Olaf began, but Lulu continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

“You visited a large lake in the off-season where you had an ill-fated romance that ended in betrayal and leeches. You burned an old flame at an old mill, then returned to school as teacher, where you were underpaid working nights. You meet a partner in a penthouse, and you murder an old enemy in a murder of crows. A good man, a noble man. His words, they haunt you from beyond the grave, and even hospital visit doesn't make you feel better. You have set fire after fire, but it's never enough, for time flies like a poison dart and the force of destiny cages us all!”

Silence descended in the tent once Lulu had finished her speech. Olaf stared at her, and the troupe glanced at each other, wondering how this one fortune teller in the middle of nowhere could know so much about them and what they’d done.

“I… I can see you live up to your reputation,” Olaf said eventually. “We should've come sooner.”

“It’s just a small taste of Madame Lulu’s power,” Lulu replied, smiling. “I can see that you are a man with big questions- and for big answers, you need to be asking of the crystal ball.” Sweeping another pair of beaded curtains aside, she ushered them into a small alcove containing a round table, a crystal ball resting on top of it.

“I always thought crystal balls were as fake as those eyelashes.” Esmé said, rolling her eyes.

“No, no, no- they are as real as the jewels on your teeny-tiny engagement ring.”

Ainsley covered their mouth with one hand, resisting the urge to laugh. Seeing someone else taking the piss out of Esmé for a change was nice, they had to admit.

“How does it work?” Olaf asked.

“Oh, is very complicated to explain, please.”

“Try me.”

“Okay,” she said. “Once a day, when spirits call, you may ask one question of the ball and then spirits come in smoke and fire to answer you your heart's desire.”

“That seems plausible,” Ainsley said. Olaf shook his head, frowning at them.

“No, it doesn’t sound _plausible! _It sounds totally believable!”

Ainsley glanced at Fernald, raising their eyebrows as if to say, _You really can’t make this shit up, can you? _But he was looking straight ahead, deep in thought.

“Tell me, my Olaf. What is your heart's desire?

“Ask where we can find the Baudelaires,” Mildred suggested.

Ainsley frowned, wondering if telling her- and Maud and Phil- what they knew about the Baudelaires’ location would be a good idea or not. Maybe later, once Olaf was well out of earshot.

“Ask about the sugar bowl,” Phil added.

“Well, that’s easy,” Olaf said. “Lend me your ear, Madame Lulu.” He paused, before asking his question: “Did one of the Baudelaire parents survive the fire?”

Lulu closed her eyes, and took another deep breath, Then, after a moment of silence, she opened her eyes again.

“You will have your answer in morning,” she replied, which Ainsley strongly suspected was a deflection to avoid the fact that she didn’t actually have an answer.

“The morning?!” Olaf asked. She shrugged.

“Is how crystal ball works- day shift, night shift, like a cannery.”

“So, what do we do in the meantime?” Esmé asked.

“We toast, to getting answers to all of our questions- at a reasonable group rate!” Olaf replied. Then he turned to the troupe. “Break out the trunk wine!”

* * *

Fernald sighed, walking out of the tent to go and fetch one of the boxes of wine from the trunk. _Your sister, she depend upon you. _What did that mean? Was Fiona okay, or had something happened to her? He really, really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“What should I do?” he thought out loud, opening the trunk. “Should I call her?” There was a phone booth right there, maybe he could just… But what if their stepfather picked up instead? What would he even say to him? (Assuming he’d be able to get a word in edgeways past all the inevitable shouting?)

_Oh, hey, Stepfather- no, I have not magically turned straight in the last eight years, and no, I have no desire to rejoin your twisted cult, thanks for asking. I would like to speak to my sister, please- by the way, if anything has happened to her because you have to be an asshole about everything, then I am coming over there and feeding you to a goddamn sea monster, and I won't feel bad about it._

Yeah, it was probably for the best that they didn’t have that conversation, not just now at any rate. He was aware, of course, that eight years was a long time, and that his stepfather could have mellowed out a bit by now. But frankly, that wasn’t really a risk he wanted to take. Shaking his head, he opened the trunk and pulled out the box of wine. The Baudelaires were no longer hiding in the trunk, and Fernald wondered where they had gone. Maybe they were hiding somewhere close by- or they had already left to find the headquarters.

A couple hours later, the box of wine was almost empty. Ainsley and Phil had fallen asleep, but Fernald and the twins were still awake for now, as were Olaf, Esmé and Lulu.

“You know,” Olaf slurred, pouring himself yet another glass. “I thought by now I'd have all the trunk wine I wanted. You know, Mama told me I'd be a star.”

“You never talk about your mother,” Fernald said.

“She wasn’t my mother,” Olaf scoffed. “That’s the woman who owned the houseboat. We agreed that by age twenty-eight, I would live in a castle made of success, just reading my own glowing theatrical reviews in a bed full of money. You know, happy.”

“This is fascinating story, my Olaf,” Lulu said. Esmé glared at her.

“_Your _Olaf?”

“But is bedtime, please. Crystal ball needs rest before giving you big magic spirit answer in morning.”

“What's in that big, mysterious armoire?” Esmé asked, peering through another beaded curtain in the corner.

“Stay away from Caligari Cabinet, please,” Lulu replied. Just then, there was a rusting noise outside.

“Did you hear something?” Olaf asked, heading towards the exit of the tent. “I wonder who that could be at this hour.”

“Hmm, is probably pack of starving lions,” Lulu replied, walking out of the tent with him.

Fernald frowned, setting down his empty wine glass. He had a feeling he knew who was out there, and he really, really hoped that they had some idea what they were doing, and had managed to conceal their identities somehow.

Finally, Olaf and Lulu came back into the tent, bringing what appeared to be a two-headed individual with white hair, dressed in a mixture of over-sized clothing. Despite the clothes and the hair, though, Fernald was pretty sure he knew who they were- apart from anything else, there was nobody else out here, and they were in the middle of nowhere.

“What did you say your names were again?” Olaf asked, taking a sip of wine.

“Uh, we didn’t,” Maybe-Violet said. “Er, I’m Beverly, and this is my other head, Elliot.”

“It must be difficult, having two heads,” Olaf replied.

“It’s very difficult- you can’t imagine how hard it is to find clothes.”

“I noticed your shirt,” Esmé said. “I’ve got one just like it, though it’s not as dirty, obviously. It’s very In.”

“Just because we’re freaks, that doesn’t mean we don’t care about fashion,” Maybe-Violet replied.

“Do you have trouble eating?” Olaf asked. They nodded. “Well then, let’s see how much trouble you have.” He held out an ear of corn. “Here, eat this, you two headed freak.”

They took the ear of corn, and attempted to eat it. However, they kept dropping it, as while it was long enough for Violet to hold one end and Klaus to hold the other in their free hands, whenever they tried to lift it to one of their mouths, neither had the co-ordination to do so without dropping it.

“Look at them!” Olaf exclaimed. “They can’t even eat an ear of corn!”

He laughed, and Fernald and the rest of the troupe pretended to laugh as well. At least, he hoped the rest of them were pretending to laugh, since this was actually kind of horrifying to watch.

“Pick the corn up off the table, freak!” Olaf cried. “This it the funniest job interview I have ever seen! You must hire these freaks at once, Lulu- audiences love sloppy eating. Trust me, I know.”

Just then, there was another rustling noise, this one coming from under the table in the middle of the room.

“What is that?” Esmé asked, lifting the tablecloth. “Some kind of feral infant?”

Well, at least that answered the question of where Sunny had gotten off to. Fernald had wondered where the youngest Baudelaire was- though he’d assumed she had a disguise of her own, and the fact that her disguise could be described as “feral infant” didn’t really come as a surprise.

“That’s Chabo, the Wolf Baby,” Violet explained. “Her mother, a hunter, fell in love with a wolf, and that’s their child.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Ainsley said.

“Maybe we should let her eat corn too?” Fernald suggested, then picked up an ear of corn and passed it to Sunny, who snatched it off him and ate it quickly.

“She’s a bit wild,” Klaus explained, as Sunny tossed the now finished coin out from under the table.

“People are always liking of the violence,” Lulu said, clapping her hand. “Yes, Chabo is hired, too. Starting at show tomorrow, Beverly and Elliot will eat corn and little wolf freak will attack audience. Questions?”

“Of course they don’t have any questions!” Olaf scoffed. “They’re lucky to have work- without this carnival, they’d be working in human resources with the rest of the freaks.”

“You are as right as you are handsome, my Olaf,” Lulu replied, which earned her another glare from Esmé.

“_Handsome?”_

“Is business term, please. Wolfie, two-headed thing, report to House of Freaks, where work accommodations will be provided. Also health insurance, although nearby hospital is how you say… out of network. Off you go.”

* * *

Once the Baudelaires- because, who else could Beverly, Elliot and Chabo possibly be- were out of the tent, Ainsley decided to slip out and get some fresh air. They walked over to the car, and sat down on the hood.

With their back against the window, they looked up at the stars, hoping to distract their thoughts from what had taken place in the tent.

“Are you alright?” Fernald asked, coming over to the car.

“Yeah,” they replied, sighing. While they did appreciate how concerned the rest of the troupe, and Fernald in particular, were about them after the hospital fire, they also wondered how long it would be before the continuous check-ups stopped.

“Budge up, will you?” he said. Ainsley nodded, and shifted over a bit, allowing Fernald to sit on the hood beside them.

For a while, they were both quiet, studying the stars.

“So, that was without a doubt the worst job interview I’ve ever seen,” Ainsley said eventually.

“Agreed,” Fernald replied. “Although, to their credit, at least their disguises were convincing.”

“True.” Silence descended once again, before Ainsley spoke up again. “What about this Madame Lulu person? How does she know so much about us, and all the things we’ve done?”

“There isn’t really a _Madame Lulu,” _he explained. “It’s a rotating VFD position. She knows so much cause she keeps an archival library full of newspapers and films and stuff.”

“That makes sense.” They paused. “How do you think she knows about your sister, then?”

“I don’t know- I’m going to confront her about it tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna book an appointment with the crystal ball, then?”

“Not sure I could put up with that fake voice for long enough,” he replied. After another pause, he continued. “Um, Ainse, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, you know, what’s going on with us.”

“What do you mean?” they asked, frowning.

“I mean, since we first kissed back in Crowsville, we’ve not really had a moment to sit down and clear up whether this means we’re actually together, or just two friends who kiss from time to time.”

“I would honestly prefer to be actually together instead of being two friends who kiss from time to time,” they replied.

“So would I,” he replied. “Um, in that case-”

Before the could finish his sentence, there was a rustling noise as the tent door opened. Quickly, Ainsley slid off the bonnet, as Olaf and Esmé and Lulu came out of the tent.

“Goodnight, my Olaf!” Lulu called, as Olaf and Esmé walked away. “You will have your big answer in morning!”

* * *

The next morning, the troupe gathered around a picnic table that may have once been red, but was now more grey than anything else. They were all nursing hangovers from last night, and waiting for their orders for the day.

“You know, I wish we weren’t so far from the city,” Phil said. “We could got to our usual café.”

“Agreed,” Fernald replied. He frowned, giving his hooks a thoughtful click. “We could bring the café to us, though.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asked.

“I mean, maybe Madame Lulu has some stuff in one of the caravans, and we could make our usual breakfasts.” And he might have a chance to talk to whoever this current Madame Lulu was about what she had revealed last night.

“That’s a great idea,” Ainsley said.

“I thought so too.” He stood up. “Right, let’s see if I remember this. Pancakes for Ainsley, omelette for Phil, and French toast and porridge for you two.” They all nodded in agreement, and Fernald walked over to the tents.

Lulu was still in her tent, straightening up the place in preparation for Olaf’s visit.

“Come back later, please,” she said, when she spotted Fernald in the doorway. “Come back after Olaf’s visit, please.”

“Okay, can you cut the crap?” he snapped. “I know that accent’s fake, and I know you’re not actually a fortune-teller- you’re a volunteer who happens to have drawn the short straw working in this dump.”

“Fine,” she said after a pause, sitting down in the same chair Olaf had sat in last night. Her voice was flat now, no trace of accent.

“Alright,” Fernald replied. “I have a question- no need to break out the crystal ball or summon the spirits, though, we can just discuss it.”

“And why should I answer any of your questions?” Lulu countered.

“Why wouldn’t you? Isn’t that what your job is about, asking people’s questions?”

“Because I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done. And unlike certain other fire-starters in this carnival, I have nothing to gain by placating you with answers to your questions.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he countered. “Unless you really think that Jacques Snicket’s version of events is completely true, and fair and unbiased.”

“Don’t you _dare _speak about him,” she snapped, standing up. “He was a brave noble man, and… and…” She trailed off, sitting back down. “And now he’s dead, and I’ll never truly know what happened.”

Fernald sighed, pulling out another chair and sitting down. By now, he was pretty sure that the woman in front of him was the school librarian from Prufrock, who had been with Jacques Snicket back at Lieblin Hall and the Village of Fowl Devotees. Which meant that she had not been a volunteer for very long, and she was probably feeling pretty in over her head.

“Look,” he said. “Why don’t we help each other out? You want to know what I know about Snicket, and I want to know what you know about my sister. How about I tell you what I know, and you tell me what you know, deal?”

“Deal,” she replied. “What happened to Jacques?”

“Exactly what you think happened- Olaf murdered him, and blamed the Baudelaires for it. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more than that- I don’t know the specific details.”

“I see,” Lulu said. “Thank you for being honest.” She was quiet for a moment, before continuing. “As for your sister, I will admit that I don’t know very much either. All I know is that the Queequeg submarine is somewhere in the Mortmain Mountains, looking for the sugar bowl, and that it is still being manned by Captain Widdershins and his daughter Fiona.”

“_Step-_daughter,” Fernald corrected “We’re his _step-_children.” He nodded, and stood up. “Thank you for telling me that.”

At that moment, the tent door opened, and Olaf came in.

“I’m ready for my answers, Lulu,” he said, then noticed Fernald. “What are you doing in here, Hooky?”

“Nothing, boss- just seeing if Madame Lulu has any coffee or anything like that.”

“Coffee is in catering caravan, please,” Lulu replied, sliding back into her accent with an ease that was kind of impressive.

Fernald left the tent, and started looking for the catering caravan. Every so often though, he kept looking to the Mortmain Mountains, thinking of what Lulu had said. The Queequeg was out there, possibly travelling through the Stricken Stream right this moment. For the first time in eight years, he finally knew where she was- or at least where to start looking for her- and she was so close. Now he knew, with more certainty than ever, that he had to get away from Olaf somehow, and find his sister.


	11. The False Fortune-Teller- Part Two

Chapter Eleven: The False Fortune-Teller- Part Two

Half an hour, and several broken eggs later, the troupe were placed in charge of getting the carnival ready for the day’s show. With new disguises which consisted of red and gold carnival uniforms, their orders were fairly simple. Fernald had to get the employees of the House of Freaks over to the main tent, Ainsley had to put some food together for concessions, Phil had to tidy the tent up a bit and Mildred and Maud had to, for some reason, make a large tagliatelle noodle.

“Five minutes!” Fernald shouted, opening the door to the House of Freaks caravan. “Five minutes till show time!”

“One of us, one of us!” cried a man who was sitting at the table. He had a hunchback, and was in the middle of eating cereal.

“Welcome to the House of Freaks!” a red-haired woman who was holding her cereal spoon with her foot greeted. “Do you juggle, or just-”

“What? No, I’m not a freak, I just happen to have hooks for hands.”

“I envy you,” another man said. There wasn’t really anything visibly unusual about this one. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and was eating cereal with the other, and seemed pretty normal. “Which hook do you favour?”

“Would you care for some muesli?” the woman asked.

“I can’t eat muesli!” Fernald replied.

“Don’t be silly- we could use a welding gun to attach a spoon, and-”

“No, I can’t eat muesli because I’m running around following orders- besides, I’ve already had my breakfast,” he said. “Now, you guys had better put on a fantastic show, because the boss is in a really bad mood. Madame Lulu told him one of the Baudelaire parents is alive!”

Pulling open the door, he left the caravan and walked down the steps, clicking his hooks in irritation.

“What did you say about the Baudelaires?” Violet asked, following him out of the caravan and bringing her siblings with her.

“Nothing,” Fernald replied, looking around to make sure Olaf wasn’t anywhere nearby. “Just that Madame Lulu looked into her crystal ball and confirmed that one of their parents is still alive.”

“She… she did?” Violet asked. “Did she say anything else?”

“No- she said we’d have to wait until morning, because it’s technically a different question. I wouldn't bring that up with the boss, though, cause it’s a bit of a sore spot.”

“Did he tell you how it worked?” Violet asked.

“He said the tent got cold, filled with smoke and fire, and he saw a ghost from his past. You know, magic!”

* * *

The stands were far from packed- there were only about three people sitting in them. Ainsley, Phil and the twins stood near the entrance of the tent, waiting for Fernald to bring the Baudelaires and the co-workers into the tent, and for the show to begin.

Finally, he led them into the tent, and they took their places at the back of the tent.

“Buy some popcorn!” Mildred called.

“It definitely hasn’t been sitting out since last night!” Maud added.

“Soda, healthy soda!” Phil added.

“I’m selling this precooked hot dog I found on the ground,” Ainsley added, holding up the hot dog in question.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, adolescents of every gender!” Fernald called from where he sat behind the calliope. “Buy your reasonably priced concessions, because the House of Freaks show is about to begin!”

“Look at those freaks!” one of the audience members shouted. “There’s a man with hooks instead of hands!”

“I’m not a freak,” he replied, holding up his hooks. “I’m playing the calliope.”

It is useless to describe the horrible, humiliating show that followed- though it is necessary to at least try. One by one, the employees of Madame Lulu’s House of Freaks were paraded in front of the tiny crows and forced to perform horrible and humiliating tasks- a show which Olaf turned into another twisted musical number, because he clearly had no shame.

First, a man named Hugo, whose back was misshapen due to a spinal abnormality, was ordered to put on a coat, which didn’t fit him no matter how he tried. Second, a woman named Colette proceeded to bend her body into a series of unusual shapes, which were actually kind of impressive, if a little unsettling to look at. Third, another man named Kevin, whose only claim to freakishness seemed to be his ambidexterity, wrote his name on a chalkboard with both hands at once, producing two identical signatures.

“Wow!” the twins cried. “I’ve never seen two things as identical as that!”

The Baudelaires were last up, and just as they had last night, Violet and Klaus attempted to eat an ear of corn, while Sunny crawled around the ring and growled. They dropped the corn over and over, while the audience laughed and shouted at them.

* * *

Finally, finally the show was over, and the troupe, carnival staff, Olaf, Esmé and the Baudelaires all gathered in the backstage section of the tent.

“That was horrible!” Olaf declared. “That was humiliating! It’s bad enough that I have to kill time in a carnival waiting for spirits to solve all of my problems. But I make the best of it. I give one of my best performances, and there’s hardly anyone in the audience.”

“There were three people,” Ainsley pointed out.

“I tell you, Caligari Carnival is on hard times,” Lulu explained. “Is not good business model to have carnival in Hinterlands, the roller-coaster is on the… what’s the word, fritz, and frankly, roving pack of starving lions really cuts down on tourist trade.”

“I didn’t give up a glamorous career in the theatre to play to nearly empty houses!”

“I thought you gave it up to chase those orphans,” Fernald replied.

“They are not orphans!” Olaf snapped. “Not if one of their parents is still alive!”

“Spirit world will be answering all your questions very soon, please- my Olaf must have patience.”

“I’m tired of patience,” Olaf replied. “If you want a mule to move, you can hit it with a stick, or you can reward it with a carrot. I want answers to my questions, and I want an audience worthy of my greatness. I need to find a way to fill the stands with adoring crowds, and yet remind certain people that I am a force to be feared and obeyed. But what could possibly do that?”

For a moment, silence descended in the tent, as Olaf studied one of the posters. A man in a red ringmaster’s coat and black top-hat stood in the centre, surrounded by lions.

“Maybe I can beat two mules with one stick,” he said, eventually. “I need to run an errand.” He looked at the troupe. “I need all of you to dig a pit!”

“My Olaf is leaving?” Lulu asked.

“Yes, to get you a gift,” Olaf replied.

“What kind of gift, please?”

“It had better not be any of my bracelets,” Esmé said, covering her wrist protectively.

“It’s a surprise,” Olaf said, lifting Lulu’s hand to his mouth and kissing her fingers. “I’ll need to borrow this,” he added, grabbing Esmé’s noodle and striding out of the tent.

* * *

Once Olaf, Esmé, Lulu and the Baudelaires had left, the troupe went through to the main tent.

“I’ll grab some shovels,” Phil said, walking out and leaving the others to wait on the stands.

“I wonder what the pit is going to be for,” Mildred said.

“Probably something to do with that lion poster,” Maud replied.

“Are you okay?” Ainsley asked, sitting down beside Fernald.

“Isn’t that my line?” he replied, giving them a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine- this has just been a weird day. I spoke to Lulu, and he told me my sister is super close by. Plus, everyone keeps calling me a freak, which really isn’t helping.”

Ainsley was quiet for a few moments, trying to think of the right thing to say. Should they focus on the fact Lulu had revealed the location of Fernald’s sister, or the way the audience had treated him? Did he even want a response, or did he just need to vent? Before they could decide what to do, however, one of the tent doors opened.

“Do you guys need help digging the pit?” Hugo asked, as he, Colette and Kevin walked into the main tent.

“We haven’t actually started yet,” Ainsley replied. “We’re waiting for our co-worker to bring the shovels.”

“What makes you think we’d want your help, though?” Mildred scoffed.

“He was just being nice,” Ainsley said, before Maud could add to her sister’s statement. “We could use the extra help, we don’t know how long we have to dig this pit.”

“They’re right,” Fernald added, standing up. “We shouldn’t turn down help, no matter who’s offering it.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Colette said, almost absent-mindedly twisting her arms together.

At that point, Phil came back in, carrying two shovels. “It was all I could find,” he explained. “I thought those three would’ve gone back to their caravan by now,” he added, pointing to the carnival performers.

“We’re helping to dig the pit,” Hugo explained. “Your co-workers said that was okay.”

“To be clear, we said no such thing,” Maud said. “Those two did.”

“Can any of you dig?” Phil asked, looking at the performers.

“I’m probably the best at it,” Kevin replied, raising both of his hands.

“Great,” Phil said, tossing one of the shovels over. “Let’s get to work, then.”

Before long, the pit was dug. It was almost the size of the original circus ring, and was as deep as Phil was tall. They hadn’t been sure how deep to make it, but had agreed that they should play it safe, and that this was a good way of ensuring that.

With the pit finished, and a bit of time to kill, the five members of the troupe hopped down into the pit, creating an illusion of privacy.

“Wait, how do we get out again?” Fernald asked, once they were all in the pit. “You know, since we made it so deep that even Phil can’t climb out?”

“Give me a minute,” Phil replied, then kicked a hole in the wall with his boot. Testing it, he used it as a foothold to pull himself out of the pit. “There, now we can get out easily enough,” he said, dropping back into the pit.

“Do you mind if we join you guys?” Kevin asked.

“Sure,” Ainsley said, before the others could say anything.

So now there were eight of them, sitting in a circle. None of them really knew what to say at first, then Kevin spoke up.

“So, what’s the deal with you guys?”

“What do you mean?” Fernald asked.

“Who are you guys, where did you come from?”

“We work for Count Olaf, in his theatre troupe. At least, that was how we originally got mixed up with him.” Ainsley explained. “My name’s Ainsley, by the way, and these are Fernald, Phil, Mildred and Maud,” they added, introducing the rest of the troupe.

“Hello,” Hugo replied, waving. “I’m Hugo, that’s Kevin and that’s Colette- although I’m sure you know that already.”

“Of course they knew that,” Kevin said. “I bet that’s why they came here, right? To see the freaks at Caligari Carnival.”

“Actually, we came here to visit Madame Lulu and ask her questions,” Ainsley replied. “We didn’t know what we’d find here, or who we’d find here.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Baudelaire case?” Colette asked, resting her foot on her shoulder. “We only get occasional updates through the Daily Punctilio, but we don’t know all the details- or what that has to do with Madame Lulu.”

“The Daily Punctilio can’t be trusted,” Fernald said. “Basically, the Baudelaire orphans- whose names are Violet, Klaus and Sunny, by the way, not Veronica, Klyde and Suzie- were taken into Count Olaf’s _care _following the death of their parents. After they got away from him, he continued to follow them from place to place- and we went with him. Recently, he faked his death and blamed them for it, so now everyone thinks they’re murderers. After that, we all ended up at a hospital, where, among other things, we found out that one of the Baudelaires’ parents survived the fire that destroyed their home. So now Olaf wants to find out who the survivor was, which brings us here.”

“Wow,” Hugo said eventually. “That’s a bit more complicated than the papers made it sound.”

“_That _is just scratching the surface,” Ainsley said. “A lot more has happened between the death of the Baudelaire parents and our arrival here, but we don’t have time for-”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” a voice shouted. “It’s time for an interruption!”

Quickly, the troupe and the performers scrambled to their feet. One by one, they climbed out, either using Phil’s foothold or getting help from someone else in the group.

* * *

They had gotten out of the pit just in time. “Come on, get out here,” Esmé hissed, poking her head through the tent door. “Wait till you see what Olaf’s brought from the Hinterlands!”

Outside the tent, Olaf had managed to assemble a large crowd, who were gathered around a large caravan.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, freaks and normal people! I am pleased to announce a brand-new attraction at Caligari Carnival!”

“That is good news, because this popcorn is really stale,” said a man in the crowd.

“It is good news- this show is about to get a lot more entertaining, not just because I’m back in it.” With a flourish, he removed the cloth which had covered the caravan, to reveal a cage containing two lions. “Behold! A pit of starving lions! Ladies and gentlemen, I have a very special surprise for you. Lions are carnivorous, which means they eat meat.”

“That's not a surprise,” the man who’d spoken earlier said. “Everybody knows that!”

“But these lions have not been given any meat!” Olaf replied. “Not a single drop of food- they're starving!”

“That seems cruel, and not much of a show.”

“Come back tomorrow, Mr. Heckler-man, when we will randomly select one freak from the House of Freaks and we will watch as the lions devour them!”

_Wait, what? _Fernald looked at Olaf, trying to see if he was actually being serious. Judging by the ill-disguised glee on both his and Esmé’s faces, though, it was safe to say that they were being completely serious.

* * *

That night, the troupe gathered in one of the smaller tents. They should probably be having dinner and eventually getting some sleep. But Ainsley found they didn’t have much of an appetite, and nobody else brought the subject of food either.

“Well, this chapter in our lives is about as much fun as a polar bear at a rock concert so far,” Fernald sighed. The five of them were once again sitting in a circle on the floor of the tent, Ainsley sitting between Fernald and either Mildred or Maud.

“Agreed,” they said. Then they looked at the others. “Actually, there’s something we should probably tell you guys. We know who Beverley, Elliot and Chabo are.”

“It’s the Baudelaires,” Fernald added. “They climbed in the trunk just before we left the hospital, and came with us all the way out here.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t say anything earlier, but there wasn’t an opportunity.” Ainsley finished.

“So, what do we do?” Phil asked. “Tomorrow morning, somebody’s gonna get eaten by lions, and there’s a chance it’ll be the Baudelaires- either Violet and Klaus or Sunny.”

“And even if it’s not one of them, it’ll be one of the other three,” Ainsley pointed out. “And I know we just met them today, but even so, they seem like decent people. Letting them be eaten by lions seems wrong.”

“What can be done, though?” Fernald asked. “Tomorrow there’s going to be a crowd of people waiting to see someone get eaten. We can’t get around that fact. They’ll want to see someone killed, and if tomorrow’s show doesn’t deliver…”

It was certainly a predicament, Ainsley thought, studying the dusty ground. There was something they could do- go to the House of Freaks caravan, hitch it up to the car and drive far away from the carnival. That way, there would be nobody there for the lions to eat tomorrow.

There were too many variables with that plan, though- first they’d have to present it to the others in the troupe, and hope that they would agree to it. Then they’d have to pitch the idea to the Baudelaires and the performers, and convince them to go. Finally, there would be the logistical problems- how would they secure the caravan to the car? What if Olaf still had the car keys, thus making it impossible to actually get into the car? Where would they even go?

Later, they would regret the fact that they hadn’t spoken up and suggested this plan-because even though it was far from perfect, it was still far better than what ended up happening the following day.

* * *

The next day, Olaf did not waste any time in getting the show on the road. He and Esmé must’ve transferred the lions into the pit during the night, because the caravan he’d used to transport them now stood empty, which meant that he could focus on hyping up the crowds who were already starting to arrive. The troupe had only just finished their breakfast when they were ordered to join him in getting everyone to their seats.

“Right this way to the lion pit, folks!” Fernald called, as he and the others ushered everybody into the stands. There were people from all over the Hinterlands- including villagers from Crowsville and staff from the hospital.

“Oh, great,” Ainsley muttered, glancing over at one section of the staff.

“What’s up?” Fernald asked, following their gaze, to where two vaguely familiar people sat.

“I’m pretty sure those are the teachers from Prufrock,” they replied. “Do you think they’ll recognise us?”

“Doubtful- we were wearing disguises at the time. Plus, a lot’s happened since we left that school- they probably don’t even remember us.”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Olaf declared. “This may be the most exciting day of your entire lives! Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Caligari Carnival’s Big Top Finale!” He paused to allow the audience to applaud. “Thank you, thank you. I am your ringmaster, Count Olaf, but a different Count Olaf than the one you’re read about in the papers, who is dead.”

“Incredible!” one of the audience members cried. “Who knew that there were so many Counts with one eyebrow named Olaf?”

“We’re both very handsome,” Olaf replied. “That’s probably why you might be confused. But, enough about me. Ladies and gentlemen, inside this pit are two starving lions- and standing beside said pit are five delicious freaks!” He gestured to the Baudelaires and their co-workers. “Look closely at all of these freaks! Observe Hugo's hideous hump. Cackle at Colette's cockamamie contortions. Giggle at the absurdity of Kevin's ambidextrous arms. Snicker at Beverly and Elliot, the two-headed freak. Laugh so hard you can hardly breathe at Chabo the Wolf Baby!”

* * *

“What do we do?” Ainsley hissed.

“I don’t know,” Phil admitted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the choosing ceremony to commence,” Olaf announced. “The names of each and every freak have been written down on small pieces of paper, folded up, and placed inside the box that this lovely young lady is holding.” He gestured to Madame Lulu, who was holding up a box covered in glitter.

“I don’t think she’s lovely,” Esmé replied, shaking her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I will reach inside the box, pull out one piece of paper, unfold it, and read the name of the freak out loud. Then that freak will then walk down this wooden plankway, jump into the pit, and we'll all watch as the lions eat him.”

“Or her!” Esmé added, though Ainsley noticed she wasn’t looking at Colette, or Violet, or Sunny- she was looking at Madame Lulu.

“Before we begin, does anyone have any questions?” Olaf asked the audience.

“I have one- why do you get to pick the names?” asked the same heckler from yesterday.

“Because it was my idea, obviously,” Olaf replied. “Anyway, ladies and da-da-da, I am now reaching my hand inside the box. I am pulling out one piece of paper, which I will unfold very slowly, to increase the suspense.”

“A grown man, unfolding paper- amazing!” an easily impressed audience member cried.

“I learned how to amaze crowds by working in regional theatre,” Olaf explained. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am now unfolding the first fold in the piece of paper.”

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” Ainsley muttered.

“I have just unfolded the second fold in the piece of paper! There are only five… four more folds left.” He continued to unfold the paper, until… “I did one more fold, and that was the last fold! What does it…” He held it out so Esmé could see it, before addressing the audience again. “Ladies and gentlemen, today's lucky freak proves that two heads are better than one. Beverly and Elliot, step on up.”

“Shit,” Phil muttered. “This isn’t good.” Ainsley glanced at him, thinking that this was a bit of an understatement.

“Thank you,” Klaus said, as he and Violet stepped up to the plank. “We’re thrilled to be chosen.”

“You're welcome,” Olaf replied. “Now, jump into that pit so we can all watch you get devoured by lions. Get in there!” They didn’t move any further down the plank. “What’s the problem?”

“My other head and I were thinking,” Violet began.

“Thinking with both heads,” Klaus added.

“Instead of watching a freak jump into the lion pit, wouldn't it be more exciting…”

“To watch a freak get pushed?”

“This would be more violent, please!” Lulu said, and judging by the audience’s reactions, they agreed with her.

“And who, pray tell, do you imagine performing such a dangerous job?” Olaf asked.

“You,” Klaus said. “After all, you are the star of the show.”

“That's true!” one of the audience members cried. “I'd like to see the ringmaster throw that freak into that pit!”

“With pleasure,” Olaf said, walking up to the plank. By now, Violet and Klaus had shuffled over to the end of the plank, and were balancing carefully on it. “I am deeply honoured to have been asked, but I'm afraid I couldn't possibly go any further than here.”

“Why not?” Violet asked.

“I'm… I’m allergic to cats,” he explained.

“I have an idea!” Esmé cried. “Madame Lulu, you walk the plank and throw the freak to its death!” She shot a look at Violet and Klaus, and made a slight pushing gesture when Lulu wasn’t looking.

“What the Hell is she planning?” Ainsley muttered.

“Of course!” Olaf said. “After all, Madame Lulu is the reason we’re all here today. What do you think, violence fans? Let's see Madame Lulu throw Beverly and Elliot in the pit!”

Lulu hesitated for a moment, before walking carefully down the plank. When she reached Violet and Klaus, she put an arm around each of them, but made no move to push them into the pit. Ainsley and Phil stood right across from them, on the edge of the pit, waiting to see what happened.

“I think the suspense has been increased enough,” Olaf said. “This is the moment we've all been waiting for. If Madame Lulu is not brave enough to do it, then whoever volunteers will get a special reward!”

“I’m brave enough!” Hugo cried. “So are Kevin and Colette!”

“Oh no, you’re not!” Fernald shouted, jumping up from the calliope and running over to them. He signalled over to Mildred and Maud, and soon the three of them were fighting the three performers, preventing them from reaching the plank.

“We can be brave!” Kevin said, trying to break out of the huddle so he could reach Olaf and Esmé. Mildred gave him a light, but pointed shove, keeping him in place. “Count Olaf, let us prove it to you, and then you can employ us!”

“_That’s _what this is about?” Ainsley asked. “They’re gonna commit a murder so they can join the troupe?”

“What a wonderful idea!” Esmé cried. “Isn’t that a wonderful idea, darling?”

“Let us through, so we can prove our worth!” Hugo shouted, trying to shove past the twins again.

“No you won’t!” Mildred snapped, catching hold of his arm. Fernald snapped his hooks at the three of them, muttering something Ainsley couldn’t make out from here.

“What are they doing?” Phil asked.  
  
“I think they’re pretending to fight the performers, so they can’t go over to the plank,” Ainsley replied, their gaze flicking from their co-workers and potential co-workers to Lulu and the Baudelaires.

“Should we help them?” Phil asked.

By now, some of the audience members- including Mrs Bass and Mr Remora- had joined the fight. Ainsley was about to suggest that they go over to help, when Lulu gave Violet and Klaus a hard shove, sending them flying off the plank. They landed near the edge of the pit, knocking into Ainsley and sending all three of them to the ground.

“Get out of here!” Lulu called, without a single trace of a foreign accent. “Go, I’ll be right behind you!”

Scrambling awkwardly to their feet, the older Baudelaires ran from the tent, Sunny running after them, her own circus persona forgotten. Ainsley sat up, holding up a hand so Phil could help them to their feet.

“You’re no fortune-teller!” Olaf said, noticing Lulu’s mistake. “You’re that school librarian!”

“I’m more than that,” Lulu said, holding up her spyglass. Ainsley couldn't see her face, but she sounded calm, brave, absolutely sure of herself. “I’m a volunteer.”

“Well, thank you for volunteering,” Olaf replied, with a smirk. He drew a long, sharp knife from the inside of his white coat. “Now it's time for your special reward.” Without another word, he cut the rope which held the plank up, sending both it and Madame Lulu into the lion pit.

As she started to fall, Phil reached out an arm to try and grab her, presumably to pull her out before the lions could get her. But he couldn't get hold of her flailing arms, her curly dark hair or even her flimsy purple gown. Ainsley realised, almost too late, that his efforts were useless, and that he had leaned over too far.

Quickly, they reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to tug Phil back from the edge of the pit. But they weren’t strong enough, and within a second it became clear that they had only made the situation worse. The two of them were tilting dangerously close to the edge of the pit. Ainsley squeezed their eyes shut, not wanting to see what was about to happen.

Which was when something cold and metal clamped onto their upper arm, and a small, thin hand grabbed their other arm. Together, the troupe took a couple of steps back, until they were all safely away from the edge.

“We’re okay,” Ainsley muttered, as slowly, they all disentangled themselves from each other. “We’re okay, we’re okay.”

For a moment, Ainsley stood beside the pit in shock, unable to move. Below them, they could hear Lulu’s shrieks and screams, and the guilt that nobody had been able to save her was equally as bad as the shock from their near-death experience. But then they heard another sound which cut through their shock- the sound of Esmé laughing. They turned to face her, glaring.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” they snapped, and then they walked straight out of the tent, needing to get away from all of this.

* * *

They were followed out by Madame Lulu’s former employees, who went with them to the car.

“Is that what it’s always like, working for Count Olaf?” Colette asked. “Everyone looking out for each other, I mean?”

“_We _look out for each other,” they replied. “Olaf and Esmé are only in this for their own goals. They don’t care about the rest of us.”

“But, if we’re part of the troupe now, does that mean that the eight of us will be looking out for each other now?” Kevin asked.

“Look,” Ainsley said. “I’m going to be completely honest with you three. It’s going to be a while before we fully accept you guys as one of us. It has nothing to do with you three as people, it’s not a personal attack. But the fact is, the five of us have been through a lot together. We’re like a family now. It won’t be easy to open up and let new people into that family.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Kevin said. “I know when I first came out here, I took a while to open up to Hugo and Colette- I had another best friend before I came here, and I kept comparing her to them.”

Before Ainsley could respond, the rest of the troupe came over to the car. Olaf ordered Fernald to get the new recruits into the trunk, and told Ainsley to tie the House of Freaks caravan to the back of the car. They took the rope and got to work, thinking that there was something kind of ironic about the fact that they were leaving the carnival the exact way they had thought about leaving it last night. Of course, they hadn’t planned on leaving under these circumstances- with a woman dead in the lion pit, and three people being shoved into the trunk.

“Let’s go!” Olaf said, disappearing in the direction of Madame Lulu’s tent.

“You heard him, get moving!” Esmé snapped. She handed out flaming torches to Phil and the twins. “You three, burn this place down!”

After about ten minutes, Ainsley was still no closer to tying a secure knot, Fernald had managed to get the performers into the trunk and the smell of smoke was starting to fill the air from the burning roller-coaster and tents. Olaf and Esmé re-joined them, Violet and Klaus trailing after them. Esmé carried Sunny, and went to sit in the car, waiting for the rest of them to finish their work.

“Hey, I know a knot called the Devil’s Tongue- that’ll probably hold better,” Violet said. “I can tie it.”

“Thanks- I have no idea what I’m doing,” Ainsley said, moving aside so that the elder Baudelaires could crouch beside the trunk and get to work. “Hey,” they whispered, before standing up. “I’m sorry about Lulu- she didn’t deserve that.”

Finally, it was time to leave. Once again, Ainsley was sitting in the front seat, between Olaf and Esmé. Esmé still had Sunny on her lap, and Olaf had a smile on his face that sent a chill down Ainsley’s spine.

“Here we are, riding off into the sunset,” he said.

“It's the afternoon,” Ainsley pointed out.

“That's not the point. The point is, we are going to be very, very rich, and the surviving Baudelaires are about to be very, very dead.”

_What? _They looked at Olaf, who was now holding a walkie-talkie and ignoring them. He pressed a button and started to speak.

“Beverley, Elliot,” he said. “Press the red button and speak to me.”

“We’re here,” Violet’s voice came from the other end of the line.

“Look out the window!” Ainsley frowned, wondering where he was going with this.

“What are you doing?” they heard Klaus cry. “Stop it!”

“I didn’t need a fortune-teller to tell me where the Baudelaire brats were hiding,” Olaf replied with a laugh. “I managed to figure that one out all by myself. So, allow me to tell you your future- a great deal of suffering and pain and then a long fall to rock bottom. Do you know how that feels? Because I do. But things are looking up for me- I'm cutting all ties with my past failures. Get it? Because I'm actually cutting the rope that you tied…”

Finally, Ainsley realised what Olaf was doing- or more to the point, what Hugo, Colette and Kevin must be doing. They were going to cut the rope that connected the car and the caravan, leaving the older Baudelaires to go flying down the Mortmain Mountains.

“I’m sure they get it, darling,” Esmé said, then leaned her head out of the window so she could wave at the caravan. “Goodbye, Baudelaires!” she called.

“Down they go, into the belly of the beast!” Olaf said.

Ainsley turned their head, but they couldn’t really see past the rest of the troupe. They wanted to say something, to demand to know what the Hell Olaf thought he was doing. But it was no use- not if the rope had already been cut. There would be no way to reverse what had been done now. They had failed to save Madame Lulu, and now they had failed to save the older Baudelaires. They had failed, and there was nothing they could do about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I got the idea for the Henchperson's name from JC Morrigan's fic The Amorous Accomplices.


End file.
